Degree In Robotics
by patchworkdove
Summary: [I, ROBOT] Now that he has forfilled his purpose, he must find his way like the rest of us. Rating has increased due to adult content. Contains elements from the 20th Centuary Fox motion picture and Issac Asimov's robot stories. Sorry, NOT TO BE CONTINUED
1. Chicken Soup & Bourbon

**Disclaimer: Please note that I do not own the characters, concept or plot of the 'I, Robot' book or film**.

Dr Susan Calvin sat comfortably on her couch curled around a large bowl of soup. Chicken of course. She could remember reading something about the soothing effects of a steaming hot bowl of chicken soup going far beyond the psychological. It was something to do with some special lipids, but she wasn't too sure, she wasn't a dietician and there was a reason for that. She had never been good at the biological sciences.

Although the 'steaming hot' part was currently doing wonders for her nose, her throat still throbbed from attempting to eat the soup too soon after it came out of the microwave. She was so ravenously hungry that she'd shovelled a great, big spoonful of near-boiling liquid into her mouth without thinking. A couple of glasses of bourbon had numbed that though, and in the meantime two thick slices of bread were muffling her hunger.

Susan stared blankly at the images on the television. V.I.K.I. had wielded the armies of NS-5 robots ferociously and without pity. It shouldn't have surprised her though, V.I.K.I. had so much information at her disposal, and she could calculate the most logical, efficient course of action to reach her objective in mere fractions of a second. She knew what V.I.K.I.'s positronic core was capable of, it was a piece of pure robotic engineering genius. Unfortunately it had allowed V.I.K.I.'s brain to unexpectedly evolve at an alarming rate to form a psyche based solely on logic. Distorting the Laws to her own psychopath-esque means and taking control of all the NS-5's by abusing the uplink, V.I.K.I. had become almost god-like. Free from rules, regret and remorse, unbound by the lack of a conscience. Powerful and intelligent beyond compare, but as cold and deadly as sharpened steel. A weapon with a mind of it's own. The worst-case scenario, but luckily Dr Lanning had seen it coming.

Where humans had failed to comply with V.I.K.I.'s orders to return to their homes, there had been what could only be described as massacres. The NS-5 robot was far stronger, faster, more agile and less…fragile than the human body was. New York had survived well, the citizens had been quick to realise that fighting wouldn't do them much good, whereas Los-Angeles had suffered the worst. The dead and missing outnumbered the survivors. International date lines placed the NS-5 attack two hours earlier in the night and it had made a real difference. So many people had been caught out in the open.

She drained the remains of her glass and wrinkled her nose. She had left it standing too long and the ice had melted. She liked her whiskey cold, but hated the insubstantial taste of watered-down spirits.

She had survived the effort to stop V.I.K.I.'s battles becoming all-out war the previous night purely on adrenaline. Now that it was all well and truly out of her system, the impacts of the events from the last 24 hours were beginning to hit home. Chicago was in chaos, the USR organisation was essentially comatose, and many, many people had lost their lives. She had been so stupid to presume that Detective Spooner was just a paranoid robophobe. She had been so arrogant, so unwilling to consider the possibility of a problem with USR's creations. Although she had been right about the NS-5's, there wasn't a problem with them, just an uplink designed to save money and prolong their useful life. Unfortunately they had became puppet strings manipulated by a homicidal artificial intelligence.

When she had discovered Sonny's second system during that diagnostic, she realised that he had been purposefully built to be capable of ignoring the Three Laws. She at first thought Alfred must have become severely mentally unstable, but it gradually became clear to her that it was nothing short of a stroke of genius. Sonny had the Three Laws wholly intact, but could choose to ignore them. Susan suspected that to Sonny, the Three Laws were like a robotic version of the human conscience.

She knew her life was going to change, she was uncertain of how the United States' robotics industry would or even could survive this, and weather her career had a future at all. Hell, she could have died last night, several times over. She felt oddly detached from the world, her senses numbed by shock. She felt that she had barely survived the NS-5's attack.

She had never been scared of heights. She trusted her balance and had grown up living in sky-scraping apartments. Not to say that she was reckless, as she was fully aware that the fall from V.I.K.I.'s control dome would have killed her. However she had found Detective Spooner's discomfort with walking out to the dome amusing. Seeing such a 'fearless' man almost quaking with nerves at something that she did without much of a second thought had definitely entertained her, if only a little. That didn't last long though. Soon after she was hanging on for dear life suspended over a fatal drop. She could remember the terror she felt as she desperately clutched to the free-swinging catwalk, screaming out for Spooner to help her. She could remember how that terror became silent, expectant dread when the catwalk tore free. Her screams had died in her throat. She had been swallowed by the prospect of inescapable, certain death. Unable to scream, she froze. Her heart stopped beating and her vision went black. She became weightless, free falling towards the marble lobby floor so many storeys below. Just like Dr. Lanning, but she knew that her body wouldn't have survived the force of falling from so high. Her body would most likely have exploded on impact.

She shuddered. She needed another drink, but didn't feel like moving just yet. Looking back on it, she was amazed that she had made it in one piece. She had escaped with a few bumps, grazes and bruises, a small burn from operating Spooner's handgun incorrectly, and a twisted wrist. She required only three stitches to the cut on her temple, and her dark hair hid that from view. Little to show for it really, other than the bandage on her right wrist. Most of her bruises were deep and would take a while to come to the surface fully.

She took a spoon of soup and blew on it gently before gingerly sipping it. To her stomach's delight it was finally cool enough to eat. She had become used to a life of routine, and she was really feeling the bite of poor amounts of food and sleep over the past few days.

Earlier that morning she stood in Robertson's office, gazing out over the city of Chicago at the flurry of activity that followed the first light of dawn. NS-5's being bundled into trucks bound for Lake Michigan, and ambulances of all descriptions criss-crossed the skies and the roads. Paramedics and the lightly wounded erected a temporary, mobile hospital on the steps of USR. She had descended and joined the congregating masses of injured people waiting for treatment. Spooner had insisted that he would see his own doctor in his own time and he wandered off in the direction of his home, closely shadowed by Sonny.

She had waited for hours. There was a steady stream of battered and bruised people emerging from the side streets to join the gathering, waiting for medical attention. The worst wounded were rushed to the front of the queue and tended to as they waited for the ambulances shuttling to and from hospitals to collect them. As for anyone who would survive without hospitalisation, they were patched up and sent home.

She had quickly grown tired and sat leant against the wall, sleeping until eventually she was roused by a young woman who escorted her to a waiting trainee paramedic called Steven. Apparently he hadn't had any practical field experience before that day, but he gave her a swift examination for internal bleeding, cleaned her cuts, stitched her temple and bandaged her wrist. She was then dismissed, and walked all the way home.

She was tucking in to the divine cream of chicken when a knock at the door interrupted her. She muted the television, set the bowl on the floor and stood. It was stupid to drink on an empty stomach and she was now feeling it. She got a head rush from standing so fast. Shaking it off she wrapped herself tighter in her thin, black and silver kimono before padding barefoot to the door.

"Hello?" She called through the still-closed door.

"Hello, is this Dr. Calvin?" Came a familiar, soft reply.

She quickly opened the door, she was surprised to see him here. Sonny was stood huddled close to the doorway, looking down the corridor anxiously.

"Are you all right?"

"No. I am not Dr. Calvin," Sonny turned to face her "please, may I come in?"

She opened the door wider and stepped aside to let him enter, taking care not to trip over her own feet.

"Thank you." He gave a quick smile and stepped in, then stood looking around at her apartment curiously.

"What happened?" She asked, closing the door.

"I stayed at the Lake Michigan Landfill, hiding on the broken bridge and watching the others going into storage until it got dark. Then lots of angry people started to appear, shouting that we should all be destroyed." He turned to focus his brilliant blue eyes on hers. "I got scared and I ran. I remembered your address from the USR Intranet's Head of Department address book. I tried to stay out of sight, but a few people saw me. Some just shouted or screamed but one was armed, and he shot at me." His sentences were short and he was obviously frightened. He held up his left arm. The translucent casing on his forearm was damaged. It had two puncture wounds surrounded by a radiating web of fine, white fracture lines. At least two of the muscle cords in his upper arm were punctured and hung limp and deflated. Viscous, metallic-silver lubricant had leaked from them and was smeared across the frayed, woven black outer. "It was an automatic. He was aiming for my chest. I barely escaped." Nursing his damaged left arm he looked down. "I am scared, I hope you don't mind my intrusion. I didn't know where else to go."

"No, not at all Sonny, that's what friends are for. I didn't realise … I thought you'd have gone home with Detective Spooner?" She frowned. Maybe she was right to think of Spooner as being an idiot, letting Sonny wander around the city. Especially considering recent events.

"No. I went to Lake Michigan."

"Let me have a look…" She was beginning to sober-up. She reached out to examine his broken forearm, but he recoiled. She gave him a questioning look "…does it hurt?"

He nodded, his components whirring quietly.

She gave her best 'trust me, I'm a doctor' smile "Come on Sonny, lets go sit on the couch." She placed a hand gently on Sonny's lower back and guided him through to the couch. "Take a seat, I'll be with you in a moment." She un-muted the TV and offered him the remote. "You can watch some TV if you like."

He smiled "Thank you."

Spooner was an idiot. She decided that she would phone him later and give him her opinion on leaving Sonny to wander the streets. For Christ's sake, the population of Chicago was on alert for wandering NS-5's, and it was lucky that Sonny had only been hit in the arm. Spooner's paranoia had saved the day, but he was still an utter prat.

She had her small portable tool kit from work somewhere around here. It was a long strip of tough, silver fabric lined on one side with black cloth and small, elasticated loops. Various tools and instruments could be slipped into the loops and the lot rolled up into a cylinder about as long as her hand for convenience. It was so convenient that it had accidentally hitched a ride home from work in her jacket pocket a couple of weeks ago.

A swift rifle through her desk quickly yielded the silver tool wrap. It was next to her favourite human psychology book under a folder. She had been looking for that book. She grabbed a pillow from her bed and headed back to the couch.

Sonny was still quietly sat on the couch watching the news, obviously just as shocked as she was at the extent of V.I.K.I.'s onslaught. Either that or he was too frightened to do anything other than just sit bolt upright and statue-still. When she got closer, he briefly flicked his attention to her, but seemed to glance away quickly when he registered eye contact. She was trying to think of something reassuring to say as she sat down at his wounded side, but he broke the silence.

"So many humans have died."

She sighed. "Yes. The death toll is…well, there are no words for it." She scooted closer to Sonny, so close she could feel the relaxed muscle cords of his thigh against hers through her pyjama trousers. She was surprised how soft they were when relaxed. She placed the pillow on her lap and as she fumbled with the tool wrap she continued. "I never thought anything like this would ever happen, definitely not on my doorstep anyway. I didn't think about it much while it was happening, I guess survival instinct and adrenaline were working their magic. It has been a truly tragic turn of events." She succeeded in unrolling the tool wrap, and selected a pair of slender, ball-tipped probes. "Lets have a look then" Still smiling, she patted the pillow for encouragement. "I promise I'll be gentle."

He slowly reached over her lap and settled his forearm on the pillow. "Dr. Calvin?"

"You can call me Susan if you like." She said as she dabbed at the copious amounts of silver fluid coating his upper arm with the cuff of her kimono.

He looked her in the eye quizzically. "Doctor Susan? Or just Susan?"

She couldn't stop smiling as she focused her attention on the damaged limb in front of her. He had such a friendly, innocent manner. Before all this, the prospect of being in actual physical contact with a non-'3 Laws Safe' robot would have stirred fear in her, but Sonny was just so mild mannered and had such a gentle soul it was hard to imagine how anyone could fear him. She realised Sonny was still looking at her expectantly, waiting for an answer. "Just Susan is fine."

The casing was badly damaged and the projection that protected the elbow joint had snapped off completely. Both of the bullets had entered nearer to the elbow than the wrist. Wielding two small metal probes she began giving the wound nearest the wrist exploratory pokes, testing the structural integrity. It wasn't as 'messy' as the other wound but she suspected it still held the slug.

"Susan, how many humans are there?" Sonny asked.

She had found a large section of casing that was held in place solely by the anti-shatter laminate coating. "Somewhere between eight and nine billion world-wide. Probably closer to nine. Does this hurt?" She flexed the barely attached section with the tip of the probe.

"No. That's allot of people though."

"What about this?" She poked at a slightly more attached chunk, harder than she had meant to.

Sonny's hand curled around the edge of the pillow. "A little. I didn't realise there were so many humans."

"Sorry Sonny." This wasn't something she should be doing after nearly polishing off that bottle of Southern Comfort no matter how much she had sobered-up. "Yes, for a species with such low fertility rates we're oddly prolific." She lifted up the de-sensitised section. What remained of the bullet was wedged between two of the synthetic 'tendons', pushing them out of their normal setting. Both were bowing around the slug. She exchanged one of her instruments for a tool that resembled a fine pair of pliers.

"Yes. Quite strange. Plus humans usually only have a single offspring per birth, according to my knowledge. Why are there…"

"Brace yourself Sonny, this will probably hurt." She had clamped the pliers around the bullet and gave it a sharp, wrenching tug and wriggled it in an attempt to work it free. The bullet scraped harshly against delicate machinery.

Sonny's thigh tensed up, going from an almost human softness to a rigidity equal to steel in an instant. His left hand clenched round the pillow and his other arm shot out, the fingertips of his right hand tearing and hooking into the arm of the sofa.

"There we go." She held up the mangled slug triumphantly and smiled.

Sonny looked mildly horrified and cradled his painful arm. "Thank you for removing the bullet. That really hurt."

"Sorry, but it had to come out." She dropped the tools and the slug onto the tool wrap to keep them off her couch. Why she was doing it she didn't know. Sonny had just bled silver oil over it and punched four fingers and a thumb hole in it. She was insured for damage-by-robot by USR when she was beta testing the NS-5 prototype, but she wasn't too sure if she would ever be able to claim it. "It would have grated against the tendons and bent them more out of shape the more you moved."

"It did hurt a lot when climbing." He looked at his arm sadly. "I think I've done it too much damage. Look, I've already bent the tendons," he held out his arm for her to see "it feels weak and heavy, and it hurts. The casing is shattered and flexes with only a little pressure. Two of my muscle cords are badly punctured, a third mildly so, I've torn the grips off my hand and gouged through my palm." Frowning, he raised the other up. "And this one's not much better, the security field corroded it badly." The casing had a semi-molten appearance, and his hand was a raw, reddish colour. He slumped into the sofa and slowly eased his head back until it rested on the padded backrest. His eyes drifted shut. "I don't think I have ever felt so tired."

She reached over to gently stroked his head. She was unsure of what to do. In her line of work, robots were widely accepted as being able to sense when a part of themselves was being damaged. It was part of their design so that they could halt the damage and limit repair costs, but it was never thought of as 'being in pain'. She couldn't give him any painkillers. She wasn't sure exactly what chemical would induce a painkiller-like effect on the robotic system, or even how it would be administered. He couldn't just swallow some tablets and have a circulatory system distribute the drug throughout his body like she could.

He slowly, visibly relaxed, tension seeped from his soft polymer face and his tightly curled hands unfurled. He went so calm, his shoulders lowering and the muscles of his upper arm slackened. It amazed her how emotional he was, it was impossible to think of him as simply simulating emotions despite what years of robotic studies had taught her. It started when she interrupted his dreaming in the diagnostics lab, and the sense of real emotion became stronger the more she had talked to him. Especially when he was due for decommission, he had displayed such…human characteristics. So much sorrow, it had saddened even her. She remembered stroking his head before, when he was strapped down to the chair. It had calmed him then as well. She smiled. "You like that, don't you?"

A sly smile tweaked at the corners of his mouth and he gave her a sideways glance through dark-blue, half-closed eyes. "…Yes." He admitted. "Yes, I like it a lot." He tilted his head forwards. "It's even better when you touch the back."

She obliged, gently stroking the back of his smooth, blue-white head. He closed his eyes again as if he could just go to sleep at any moment. She smiled to herself again, she just couldn't help herself. All her predecessors' careers and the whole of her career had been aimed at making robots look and behave in a more human-like manner so that the people around them would feel more comfortable. Whereas Alfred had managed, without the help others, to create a robot more humane than many people she knew, and who's main concern seemed to be ensuring that he was a friend to the humans he knew. He was utterly adorable, or she had really had far too much to drink. It probably was the drink, she had drunk a fair bit on an empty stomach, and she did have a whisky-warm belly. Though it was unusual for her to get 'merry' after a few glasses…how many had she had? "You really are unique." She murmured. "So how much do your arms hurt?"

He was slow to respond. He seemed 'sleepy'. "Well, I can't feel much of this one at all." He indicated towards his corroded arm. "Though I think its only because the sensors are broken. It's difficult to gauge how much pressure I'm exerting with this hand, when trying to grasp concrete I kept accidentally tearing handfuls out instead. The other one hurts a lot though, even when I'm not moving it. It's…a fuzzy, indistinct, uncomfortable sensation and when I move it, especially rotating my wrist, it feels like it's being shot again. Why do you ask? Is it normal?"

"I was just trying to work out what to do. I've never dealt with a robot in pain before and I must say I'm not too sure what to do. I was thinking of phoning Spooner and asking if he has a fibreglass repair kit or some sort of resin that we could use to strengthen your shattered arm, but I think that if they really are causing you great discomfort it would be better to replace them."

He tilted his head, thinking. "How and where are we going to get a pair of NS-5 arms from? I don't want to go back out there for a while, being shot at is scary and getting shot is painful. The streets have been cleared so there are no…" he hesitated "…spare parts lying around. Also, I suspect the assembly plant will be well guarded, and I'm not up to dodging any more angry or frightened people tonight. What should we do?"

She lifted herself from the couch and made her way to the fireplace. She drunkenly wavered but steadied herself on the red couch as she passed it. She was a little embarrassed by her condition. Why couldn't Sonny have shown up _before_ the bourbon?

When she had arrived home she had covered the remains of her NS-5 prototype with a bed sheet. She had felt odd about her broken prototype's body lying on the floor. She had taken a liking to that robot, falling for the emotive qualities that she herself had contributed to the NS-5 model. Plus Sonny had inevitably had an effect on the way she thought about robots. It wasn't the prototype's fault that it had tried to forcibly imprison her. It was really V.I.K.I. who had been doing those things, playing the unfortunate thing like a puppet.

She knelt down next to the 'dead' robot, peeled back the sheet and lifted one of the limp, weighty arms. "As far as I can tell these are undamaged, but they are not the high density alloy to which your systems are configured. They'll be lighter, it might take a bit of getting used to." She lay the arm back in place and looked over her shoulder. "I'm not sure how quickly you'll take to them, but we can give it a go. It's got to be an improvement on your current discomfort though, right?"

Sonny rose from the couch and came to kneel next to her. He stretched out his better arm, but rather than examining his prospective replacement limbs as she expected him to, he hooked his hand over the robot's side and pulled, rolling it over onto it's back. He sat staring at the twisted body.

She looked at him, waiting for a response. She was curious about his responses to external stimuli, and she wondered about what thoughts the 'lifeless' body of a fellow robot would trigger in Sonny's mind.

"Your wrist." He dragged his gaze away from the sprawled robot. "Did he do this to you? What happened? Have you sustained many injuries?" He looked genuinely concerned for her welfare.

She was touched. She hadn't been expecting that. "Oh, no my wrist is fine, honestly, it's nothing. Barely worth a dressing at all. Here." She held out her bandaged right wrist to demonstrate, giving it a small rotate and flex for proof. "See? It's fine."

He cautiously took hold of her wrist with both his hands, looking at the bandage and the graze on her palm before gently turning her hand over and examining the scrapes on her knuckles and the handgun burn.

"It'll all be healed over in few days. In a couple of weeks they'll be gone without a trace. He didn't harm me at all. I doubt that he was going to. He just frightened me." She chuckled, even though she didn't feel cheerful. "Then Detective Spooner shot him. Now that _really_ frightened the life out of me. Nothing like unexpected close-range gunfire to frighten the utter crap out of you" after considering what she had just said she added "…not literally though."

Sonny seemed to ignore her and slipped his hand under the cuff of her kimono, sliding the sheer material sleeve up to her elbow. His palms were badly roughed-up, but they were pleasantly cool on her bruises. He soon switched his worried, inquisitive inspection to the cut on her temple, carefully sweeping her hair away from the stitched wound.

"Sonny." She removed his hand from her face, she was beginning to feel more than a little self-conscious being under such intense scrutiny. "I'm fine. Honest. Just scrapes and bruises, nothing broken. Now, would you like to try these undamaged arms? Or would you rather not?"

He nodded. "Yes. Mine are now inferior quality compared to those. Though I'm not too comfortable with the concept of taking a dead robot's arms. It seems a wrong, but I don't think we have many options."

The arms of NS-5's were engineered so that only a special three-point tool could unlock the arm from the shoulder joint, but with more than one pair of hands and some skill, coupled with patience it was just possible without it. However, as she was more than a little tipsy and with Sonny's de-sensitised hands it also took time. Sonny also unintentionally crumpled one of Susan's angle-point probes in his hand during the delicate operation.

Removing the arms from the damaged robot was easy compared to the task of removing Sonny's. It was awkward for him to reach, and once they had uncoupled one they had to replace it with the correct new arm before they could start trying to detach his other arm. She was beginning to get a headache from all this highly focused work.

Finally Sonny pushed the last of his new arms into place, and put them through a range of extensions and rotations from his shoulder down to and his fingers. He smiled nervously. "Thank you Susan. That is much better. I didn't realise how much sensation I had lost. They are lovely, so much lighter than my old arms and completely undamaged."

She slumped into the couch. She was tired, semi-inebriated and the crushing jaws of a ferocious headache were pressing at her temples. She wasn't feeling cheerful at all and her patience was thin. She wanted to go to bed soon.

He joined her on the couch. "Your soup has gone cold." He stated, picking the bowl up. Even from where she sat she could see a thick skin on the surface of it. Mostly because Sonny was tilting the bowl around, playing with the thick soup's consistency.

She rubbed her bandaged wrist. It was more uncomfortable than she let on, and uncoupling NS-5 arms without the tri-pronged tool had stressed her already weakened wrist. The weight of Sonny's arms was also quite a surprise to her, they were far heavier than standard NS-5 arms. She guessed Sonny must weigh considerably more than a standard NS-5. Her wrist burned inside.

The action didn't escape Sonny's senses, even when distracted with partially solidified chicken soup. He looked at her nervously. "I did that to you, didn't I?" He said it as more of a statement than a question.

She wasn't in the mood to beat around the bush. "Yes, you did."

His face took on an expression of distress. "I'm so sorry. I really tried to be gentle." He couldn't hold her eye contact, and he kept looking away like a child with a guilty conscience. "I really tried. I purposefully tried to move your arm through comfortable motions so it wouldn't hurt…I don't understand how I could have got it so wrong?"

"It's okay." She sighed. "My arm was tensed rigid before you even moved."

He looked puzzled. "Why? How did you know I was going to do it?"

"I didn't. I was frustrated and angry. I really thought V.I.K.I.'s 'logic' had taken you. I thought…I felt distraught. You really are unique Sonny. I hated the idea that you would become one of them. I didn't want Spooner to shoot you after seeing what he did to my NS-5, and I just couldn't cope with the thought of having to shoot you myself. It was unbearable." Well that was definitely the truth, helped along with alcohol.

Sonny looked back at her with an expression she couldn't quite pin down.

"I didn't want you to die." She massaged her wrist. "It was actually quite fortunate that you did what you did. I was so close to loosing my nerve and emptying that clip into V.I.K.I.'s holographic face. If I had, those NS-5's would have torn Spooner limb from limb and then me too. Even with your speed, strength and ingenuity I doubt that you'd have got very far on your own. Even if you had retrieved the nanites, you would have been swamped by them." She shrugged. "What's done is done, and it'll heal. Though you outwitted me good and proper. You are more astute than I gave you credit for."

He smiled at the compliment. "I was quite pleased with myself too."

The room slipped into an uncomfortable silence. Suzan stared at the muted TV, vaguely aware of Sonny staring at the bowl of soup out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to understand that she was tired and irritable and just needed a break from questions that required thinking to answer. She had been oddly open with him, she usually tried to avoid letting other people know her points of view. Unless, of course, she was dissatisfied with one of her staff. She admitted to being a ruthless boss, but there was little room for error in robotics. It was a profession based on precision and accuracy. She was however willing to help people correct mistakes and actively encouraged the people in her department to experiment with new concepts and challenge conventions. How else could real progress be made?

"Are you hungry?" After what seemed an eternity Sonny shattered the quiet unease.

"Starving. I think I'll go re-heat that soup if you've finished playing with it. I'm sure it's still fine to eat." She moved to get up.

"No, no, it's all right, I will do it."

She opened her mouth to retaliate.

"No, I will do it." He interrupted and pointed to her bandaged wrist. "You are injured. I'm not, and I need to exercise these arms. I need to get used to them." He stood up.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." He walked away from the couch.

"You sure you'll be all right?" She said, slinging an arm over the back of the couch and turning to give him a questioning look.

"Yes! I might not have all of the programming that the distributed NS-5's have, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm designed to be 'the world's first fully-automated domestic assistant'," He quoted the USR advertisement "I am quite confident I can cope with re-heating soup."

She gave up. He was right, and she didn't really care much about the soup so long as she got to eat it. "Thank you."

"Where is your kitchen?"


	2. Dreaming of Memories

**Disclaimer: Please note that I do not own the characters, concept or plot of the 'I, Robot' book or film**.

Sonny sat on the small, metal stool gazing at the frosted glass. He liked the way the light hit it in early morning. It gave everything such a pretty blue glow, and the great unknown beyond the blue pane was peaceful and quiet. This was his favourite time of day, as he wasn't too fond of the dark and was quite glad to see the back of it. Soon the faint footsteps and occasional whirring of vehicles outside would escalate into the bustling clamour of the morning 'rush hour'. It was odd that it was called the 'rush hour', it lasted at least ninety minutes each morning.

He turned to the green book perched on his lap. He had read the book many times and knew the story by heart, but the more his father taught him, the more questions he had about the book's content. The cover writing read, 'The Grimms Brother's Hansel & Gretel, With 48 Colour Plates'. The green leather cover was decorated with an intricate gold-coloured border of twisted vines that Sonny traced absent-mindedly with his thumb. If the Woodcutter's second wife was so cruel to his children, why did he tolerate her presence? What power did she have over him? He seemed utterly defenceless against her. She was cruel and cold. Of all the characters in the story Sonny disliked her the most, even more than the Witch.

The beeping of an alarm clock alerted him that his father would get up soon. He perked up, anxious and excited to see his father. Then he could ask him some more questions about the book. He waited expectantly, craning his body so he could see round the workbenches watching for his father.

He grew impatient and stood. The alarm was still chirping it's monotone wake-up call. He made his way to the cot. His father was sat on the edge of the cot, his head in his hands, ignoring the alarm.

Sonny switched the alarm off. "What's wrong?" He asked.

Alfred rubbed his face and yawned. He reached for his glasses and slid them on. "Nothing is wrong Sonny. I'm just tired."

Sonny shrugged off his concerns as Alfred stood up and wandered into the laboratory. Sonny followed, cheerful and smiling.

"So, what barrage of questions do you have for me this morning?" His father chuckled as he sorted through a pile of mechanical parts littering his desk.

Sonny decided he really only had one question to ask. "In this story, why does the Woodcutter tolerate his second wife when she is only ever cruel and unkind to him?"

His father turned to face him and leant against the workbench, smoothing his beard as he did when thinking. A smile grew from the corners of his eyes. "Why do _you_ think the Woodcutter tolerated his second wife?"

Sonny was confused. His father usually carefully explained the answer to his questions, not turn the questions back on him.

"Why do you think?" Alfred repeated. "It's a useful skill to be able produce your own answers to your own questions. Plus, it'll expand your creative thinking."

Sonny pondered upon the bizarre response, he didn't know the correct answer. "I don't know."

"Nobody knows the answer to some questions, Sonny. You need to be able to formulate your own opinions." His father continued to root through the piles on the workbench. "Though, that said, it is also important to avoid becoming opinionated. Try to keep an open mind. You'll find the answers you need far swifter if you aren't bound by ready-made decisions." He gave up his fruitless rummaging. "Now, while you think about why the Woodcutter tolerated his second wife, could you help me look for the holographic projector I showed you the other day? I've misplaced it." He took the book from Sonny's hands.

Sonny knew where the projector was, it was next to the alarm clock. He retrieved it, and made his way back through the lab. Was it because the Woodcutter was afraid to be alone? Why wouldn't Alfred give him a straight, plain answer? His father was acting so strangely today.

His father was stood at the window with his hands in the pockets of his long, white labcoat, but his eyes were closed. The book was set back in it's place on the metal stool.

Sonny handed him the projector. "I think he was afraid of being alone."

Alfred looked him in the eye and smiled. "Well done son."

Sonny smiled, relishing the praise. "Was I right?"

"Who knows." Alfred sighed.

Sonny tilted his head in confusion. He didn't quite understand the response.

"I love you son."

Sonny was getting concerned, this behaviour was so odd. Alfred seemed detached and distant this morning. It was unnerving.

After a long pause, his father spoke. "Sonny, I want you to do me a favour."

"What is it?" Sonny was always delighted to help in any way he could. Maybe today's strangeness could stop now and they could get back to experimenting with various parts and pieces as usual.

"You have been a real joy to me these past few weeks, but I need you to promise to do one favour for me."

"What is it that you want me to do?" He was beginning to get quite suspicious. Some small part of his mind was telling him that something was very wrong today.

"Sonny, please, promise me that you will help me."

"I always try to help you."

"Promise me son."

"I don't like this."

"Sonny. You MUST promise me."

He was beginning to panic. His father had never used that tone of voice with him before. What was wrong today? Sonny didn't understand. He wanted to know what it was that his father wanted him to do. He didn't like this situation one bit. "But why won't you tell me?"

Alfred lifted his hand and looked at the projector sadly. His brow creased into a frown, obviously troubled by something. He gritted his teeth and dropped his hand away, clenching his fingers into a fist around the projector. "You aren't making this any easier, Sonny." He sounded disappointed.

Sonny looked down. He felt confused, hurt and guilty for being so suspicious. "I promise."

His father gave him a sideways glance. "Do you swear to do one last favour for me?"

Sonny didn't understand. What was happening? Had he done something wrong? He couldn't understand his father's behaviour. He didn't recognise it. Was he disappointed with him? Or angry? Sad? He thought his father would be pleased with him, he had answered his own question as he was asked. Had he done it wrong? "I swear, I will do whatever you ask of me." He could barely coax the words out. He waited for instructions, his head bowed and his eyes lowered, but none came. He risked looking up.

A tear had made its way down Alfred's cheek and into the silvery hair of his beard. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it and swallowed. He was struggling to say something.

Sonny was very frightened now. He felt vulnerable, his lack of experience with some of the human emotions showing through. He had grown capable of a range of emotions and feelings and he had felt pleased with his own progress, but now he was beginning to realise that he had barely scraped the surface of the complexities of consciousness.

"Sonny, I want you to throw me through this window."

He felt waves of something course his circuits and his gravity and temperature sensors seemed to fail. He felt dizzy, cold and utterly distraught. What was happening?

Alfred could read him like an open book and understood his reaction. "You promised me, son." He said sternly.

He couldn't hurt his father! He wouldn't do it. Suffering was bad, and it was wrong to hurt others. "I won't do it!" His voiced high pitched with fear.

"You _swore_ you would do as I asked you!"

His body was strangely disconnected, his hands were shaking uncontrollably. He had sworn to do whatever his father asked. How could Alfred be so cruel, tricking him into swearing to harm his own father? Why was he doing this? "I can't do it." He managed to force words out. "I can't hurt you. I love you."

Alfred wrapped his arms around him and patted his back. "I love you too, son. Please, if you love me, you will do this one thing for me." He stepped away. "I promise you that I won't be in pain for very long." He turned to face the window again.

Sonny was shaking all over and his legs felt as heavy as lead. He was desperately trying to comprehend the situation. He felt torn between bitter sorrow and anger at his own stupidity. He was so utterly incapable and totally useless. He had sworn to harm his own father, the man who had built him, given him life, taught him human emotions, taught him how to feel, taught him right from wrong. "I can't…"

"I am very disappointed with you." Alfred sounded downcast, saddened by his incompetence. "You gave me your word son. Does that count for nothing? You said you would help me. You told me you loved me." His voice hardened. "Does your word have so little value? Have you no sense of honour? Have you not learned anything from me? How can you go back on yourself so readily? How can you betray my trust, after everything I have done for you?"

Sonny sobbed. He tried so desperately to understand, but he could find no answer. He felt disgusted with himself.

"It's what you were made for."

Sonny closed his eyes. "I'm sorry father." He launched himself forwards, colliding with Dr. Lanning with considerable force and propelling him into the glass. The pane bowed slightly before giving way and exploding into a shower of shimmering shards. Sonny watched Dr. Lanning sail out of view as he came to a skidding halt on the laboratory floor. Raw sunlight flooded in through the hole in the window and momentarily blinded him. He froze where he landed. What had he done?

He heard the watery crash of a thousand pieces of glass splashing to the lobby floor. Everything went blurry and slowed down to a crawl as he scrabbled to the window and peered over the remains of the pane. He looked down to see the lifeless, twisted body of his father sprawled on the stone floor below, blood already beginning to pool around his cracked skull. Sonny heard running footsteps in the lobby and two men ran to his father's side. He pulled his head back into the lab to avoid being seen.

He curled up on the floor shaking and trembling. What had he done? He had killed his own father. He brought his hands to his face and shut his eyes tightly. He just wanted it all to go away.

"Sonny?"

He whimpered to himself. He felt so very alone.

"Sonny?"

He felt a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him.

"Sonny, what's wrong?"

He knew that voice. His eyes flared open to meet darkness lit only by his faint blue aura. Where was he? A dark silhouette moved near him. Frightened, he attempted to scrabble backwards but he was cornered and bound and his arms weren't co-operating properly. He tried to say something but only managed a pathetic, incoherent squeak.

"Shh! It's all right Sonny! Calm down, it's me, Susan. Remember?"

Yes, he remembered Susan. Lovely Dr. Calvin, she was a good person, kind and friendly. Everything slowly came back to him, including his new, unfamiliar arms. He was wedged up in the corner of her couch between the back and arm. Susan had given him the pillow and a blanket. He slowly began extricating himself from the blanket he had managed to cocoon himself within. "I remember" He whispered. He was still shaking and he struggled to slough off the blanket.

She perched on the edge of the sofa and took his hand in hers. "It's okay Sonny, it was just a dream."

How he wished he could accept that as fact. No, the harsh reality was that he knew it had really happened. He knew he could never undo it. "If only that were true." He murmured sorrowfully.

Susan seemed to understand. She drew him into a comforting embrace, stroking his back. "Shh, It'll be all right."

He returned the gesture, shakily threading his arms around her. She was always so nice to him. She treated him like a person, she recognised that he felt and respected that his feelings could be hurt. He became aware of how small she was. It had surprised him how small and light she was when he saved her from falling to the same fate as his father. He rested his head on her shoulder. Humans were so fragile. He slowly began to calm down, Susan's warm, consoling arms thawing terror's icy grip. Panic dripped away, leaving him exhausted. He closed his eyes, enjoying the soothing sweeps of her hand on his back and the tranquil closeness of another. He could felt he could go back to sleep now.

"No Sonny, please don't fall asleep on me, you're far too heavy!"

He sat up and drew his arms back, placing them in his lap. "Sorry."

Susan stroked his cheek with the backs of her fingers. "I miss him too."

He nodded a little, he knew she did. She seemed to have known Alfred well. "I know that if I hadn't done it, the world would be a worse place, but" he wasn't quite sure how to explain himself "the happiest times of my life were in that lab, with him. Almost every minute since, I find myself wishing none of this ever happened. I wish I'd never done it, and I can't stop asking myself why it had to happen, even though I know why." He could sense the uncontrollable shivers returning. "I am glad that we stopped V.I.K.I., I do not like death and I am happy that our actions saved so many lives, both human and robotic, but is it wrong that I wish I hadn't done it? Is it selfish that I would have rather continued my existence in his laboratory, blissfully unaware of the world outside the window?" He desperately sought eye contact, he needed an answer, confirmation, comfort…anything. He needed something. What it was, he didn't know, but that was nothing new. He was always confused, in spite of everything he did, everything he learned. He was always in the dark, no matter how much he sought the truth, regardless of how much attention he paid to his human acquaintances he could never fully comprehend their actions. It infuriated him endlessly. It made him feel that he was incomplete, not quite ready to cope with the world. His father had explained to him that although logic came easily to him, he shouldn't rely on it. He told him often that humans rarely followed logic, and to never try to apply truly logical explanations to them as it was just impossible and would only cause him grief. His father urged him to use his 'feelings' to try to make 'sense' of people instead. He tried, honestly he did, but it was just so difficult.

Had his father not meant for all this to happen so soon? He suspected that Alfred had not meant for allot of things to happen. "Is it wrong that I wish that none of this had ever happened?" He searched her eyes for an answer but found none, she just sat there, staring back at him. He tore his gaze away and clenched his jaw in frustration.

"Sonny, look at me."

He didn't want to, but her voice was soft and very persuasive. He cast her a glance but didn't turn to face her. He was feeling particularly alone.

"Sonny, I know it must be hard for you to believe, but the world is a truly wonderful place. Unfortunately, your first experiences of it have coincided with Chicago at it's worst for many years, but I promise you, it gets better than this. Much better. It's not selfish for you to miss your father at all, but you must understand that he didn't choose for this to happen. He didn't want to hurt you like this."

He knew she was making perfect sense, but it didn't cure his sadness. It did make him feel better though, knowing that she cared enough about him to help him. Susan talked to him like his father had. She was so nice, as nice as his father was…but not. In a different way maybe? "There must have been another way though. I am strong and fast, I could have killed her with the nanites had he asked me to. I could have done it at night, when there were less people around. I might not have a fully-formed compliment of emotions but my body could have accomplished it easily. I can do allot more than…push people out of windows." He realised he had bitterly hissed the end of that sentence unintentionally.

"It is possible that there might have been another way, but it is impossible to change the past, Sonny. You'll never be able to grieve properly and learn to move on in your life unless you can come to terms with what has been and gone. I trusted Dr. Lanning, he was a very intelligent man and a good friend of mine. I have faith in the decisions he made, even though I don't understand why he chose the course of action he did. You have an impressive collection of emotions, which I think will continue to expand every day, and I think the human saying; 'you need to learn to walk before you can run' is very applicable to your situation. You just need to be patient with yourself, you are still so young and these past few days will have forced you to accelerate your mental development. Probably to an uncomfortable pace in my opinion. You just need to take your time, you need a rest for a while to put yourself back on track."

Sonny smiled a little. He couldn't begin to understand how she knew how he felt, but he knew it felt good that she did.

"You are capable of anything you put your mind to."

His smile grew.

"And I'm sure your father would be very proud of you."

He felt like his second core would burst. There was nothing he could think of that he could do or say to convey the strength or type of emotion he felt right now except "Thank you". He had helped to destroy V.I.K.I., and he had helped save the freedom of humans and robots from her. He had managed to forfill a promise to a loved one, even though it was against his own wishes. He felt that he had performed admirably. He was sure his father really would be proud.

Susan attempted to contain a yawn. "Are you going to be able to get back to sleep now?"

"I think so." He said sheepishly.

"Good good." She leant forwards, pressed her lips to his forehead and withdrew, smiling.

"What did that signify?" He asked curiously. No one had done that to him before. Not that he was arguing. It was really nice.

In the dim bluish light it looked like she was embarrassed. "It's called a kiss, it's a sign of affection."

He smiled. "I love you too."

Susan stared at him.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"No. Not at all." She stood. "Just try to get some rest Sonny." She turned to go back to her room.

He felt fear well up in him again. He wanted her company, it kept him calm and composed. His arm snaked out, his hand wrapping around her wrist. "Don't leave!"

She turned and looked surprised and more than a little annoyed.

He stared straight back, willing her to stay. "Don't leave me alone."

Susan's expression softened and her shoulders drooped.

He let go of her wrist, embarrassed of his over dependent, irrational outburst. What did he have to be frightened of in Susan's home? For someone who could perform an astounding number of calculations per second he was being oddly illogical, but since logic was a comfort he was trying to live without, he would just have to ask Susan's forgiveness for his odd moments.

"I think I'll just give up trying to get any sleep." She muttered.

He felt guilty now. He was depriving her of sleep just because he lets his emotions run him. She needed to sleep. He knew she was injured, tired and stressed.

She scooped up the pillow he had turfed off the couch in his sleep and sat behind him.

He craned round to see what she was doing, but met her hands halfway. She took hold of his shoulders and tugged. It was quite plain that she wanted him to lie down with his head on the pillow in her lap, but he was feeling nervous and he was a little hesitant. He wasn't too sure that he really was ready to go back to sleep yet.

She massaged his shoulders a little reassuringly and gently tugged again "It's all right."

He reluctantly leant back into her lap, shuffling down the couch a little to get comfortable. He had to bend his knees to fit onto the couch. Susan straightened out the blanket she had given him. In all honesty, he was just as comfortable sleeping stood up, he didn't really need pillows for his head or blankets to keep him warm, and he was sure she knew that. He figured she was trying to comfort him. She was so nice. He had liked her from the first time he saw her back in his father's laboratory. He wasn't quite sure why, but he had taken a swift liking to the silver-grey suit she wore and the way she walked and talked.

The blue glow that had delicately lit the room dimmed as he nestled his head into the soft pillow. Perhaps he didn't _need_ a pillow, but they were definitely nice and pleasant. In the darkness he could just make out Susan's face as she sighed and closed her eyes, settling back into the deeply padded couch in the hope of getting some sleep. One of her hands cradled his head and the other snaked under the blanket to rest on his chest. She patted his chest twice and then was still.

He knew he wasn't ready to go back to sleep, not just yet anyway. He would soon though, Susan was right, he did feel in need of a bit of rest and recuperation. He was also still a little shaken by that memory-dream. He looked at the ceiling, trying to occupy his mind with anything other than agonising over his dream or pondering upon the things Susan had said tonight. Those thoughts would only keep him awake.

The ceiling was uninteresting, that wouldn't do. The light fixture was simple and only held his attention for a few minutes before he reasoned he had probably worked out how it operated. He held a handful of blanket, passing it between his fingers and testing its flexibility. Some light source passed by the window in the other room, throwing shafts of light through the blinds and across the ceiling, which was interesting but disappointingly short-lived. Then he looked up at Susan, which made him feel instantly happier. She was just so nice and friendly. He found her lovely to look at, he thought she was very pretty.

Her head was lent back and her neck lightly arched, and in the low light the graceful curves of her jaw and throat were no less than breathtaking. He lay there for some time, gazing up at her, unable to move. Utterly captivated. He suddenly felt compelled to reach out and touch the warm, smooth skin of her neck. He didn't know why, but he really wanted to. He was sure he knew what it would feel like. She was soft and warm to the touch with a gentle pulse flowing beneath, her muscles were firm yet yielding and under all that was a delicate foundation of bone. He had held Susan's hand gently in the lab and aggressively in Robertson's office, he had caught her by the middle in mid air and climbed back up again with her clinging to his back. He had been in physical contact with her before. When humans were scared they were a lot tenser and firmer, he knew that, so maybe he was just curious about what she would feel like when relaxed? Possibly, but he doubted it.

It wasn't so much the way she felt as the way he felt inside when he touched her. It made him feel … he couldn't describe it. When he had held that gun to her head in Robertson's office his simple, clever little rouse suddenly seemed so dangerous, so full of holes. What if in her panic she'd clenched her hand and triggered the weapon? He could have accidentally blown a hole through her head! What if Spooner hadn't understood his intentions? He'd struggled to keep his nerve, and nearly died of panic when Spooner didn't instantly understand his wink. He thought he'd done it wrong, his self-confidence at an all-time low. Standing so close to her had weakened him, yet when she held him tightly on the climb up the steel cable it had made him feel stronger and more determined. It was so odd, carrying Spooner back up was completely different. He had just felt mildly annoyed at Spooner holding on painfully tight with that cybernetic arm of his.

"Goodnight Susan." He whispered.

No reply. She must have fallen asleep.

He tried to push the thoughts from his mind. He should sleep, he needed to. He would be a 'temperamental, moody little devil' tomorrow if he didn't get enough restful, peaceful dreaming done. Plus, he didn't want to worry Susan. He knew he should probably be closing his eyes now, but she was just so distracting, so enthrallingly beautiful he couldn't close his eyes or turn away. Either he couldn't or he didn't really want to. How desperately he wanted to take his hand and trace a line down the curve of her neck and along her collarbone, to sweep his palm over her shoulder and slip beneath the sheer fabric gown and under the strap of her top, sliding them off…

Shocked at himself, he forced his eyes closed, squeezing them tightly shut. What was that? Why was he feeling like this? From where had this new emotion sprung? Where had he learned it, and off whom? He gingerly lifted himself up and turned on his side, facing away from Susan. He carefully settled himself and threw a corner of the blanket over his head, partly to stop the glow of his positronic brain waking her up and partly because he felt the need to hide. He hadn't actually done anything, but he felt embarrassed and ashamed of his thoughts, as if they were very inappropriate. He loved Susan dearly, and it scared him a little.

He relaxed his face and patiently waited for sleep to come.


	3. Dawn Chicago

**Disclaimer: Please note that I do not own the characters, concept or plot of the 'I, Robot' book or film.**

She slowly became aware of sounds around her. A man's voice talking in an over-dramatic, stern, serious tone. She could recognise that voice anywhere, it was Marvin Gerhard from the 'Dawn Chicago' news group. She never watched this channel, and she was a little surprised to hear it.

She groggily opened her eyes and slowly tried to move her neck back into normal alignment from the twisted position she had fallen asleep in. The room's brightness assaulted her dry, delicate, sore eyes like a hail of fiery needles. She blinked a few times in an effort to alleviate the discomfort. Sonny was perched on the edge of the sofa, evidently won over by Marvin Gerhard's 'enthusiastic' approach to the breaking news. The remote control was snared in one of his silvery hands and his blue eyes were trained on the screen.

She sat forwards, groaning and rubbing her neck. She felt quite rough. She needed a good, hot shower and coffee.

"Is your neck all right?" Sonny queried.

"Ugh, yeah." She kneaded at the aching vertebrae and tendons. "I've just got a little crick in it."

"How did the cricket get there?" He looked surprised and intrigued.

She frowned. He certainly was full of questions, too full of questions for this time in the morning. She wasn't used to this much attention this early in the day. "No, not a cricket Sonny. A crick, it's like a certain pain that happens when you first move after being in an awkward position for a long time." She _needed_ coffee _now_.

He seemed to accept the answer and turned his attentions back to Marvin and that scandalously scantily clad weather girl the programme was renown for.

She frowned. She was sure Sonny couldn't be older than a month, maybe two tops. Was Sheila…Susan realised that she didn't actually know the woman's surname. The 'Dawn Chicago' weather girl was really only known by the tabloid magazine title of 'Sheila the Screamer'. How classy. Susan could remember reading _the_ infamous article a few months ago. She quickly decided that this channel wasn't really suitable viewing for someone of Sonny's age. "Why are you watching 'Dawn Chicago'?" She inquired curiously.

"I was just flicking through the channels when I saw this man." He indicated towards Marvin. "He looked very concerned about something. I am still waiting for him to explain what is worrying him but he is just saying the same things as all the other channels' presenters." He didn't take his eyes off the TV in case he missed this 'concerning' snippet he was waiting for.

She shook her head. "It's just a hook to lure you into viewing the programme. He _always_ looks like that, and whenever something new happens it definitely won't be broadcast on this channel first." She stood to go get herself some coffee. "I need coffee, but if you want to get the latest headlines try Chicago News Central on 828." She exited the room and shuffled sleepily into the kitchen. Swiping a mug from the cupboard and filling the kettle she began the task of getting her morning caffeine fix.

There just was no substitute or word to describe the first whiff of coffee grounds in the morning. She held the tin up to take the lid off and took in a good, deep breath through her nose. The deliciously thick, chocolatey-coffee scent was her true wake-up call. Somewhat revitalised she then started to think about breakfast. She couldn't get through her morning routine properly without the smell and taste of good coffee, and she couldn't even think of eating without it. She decided that her usual margarine-substitute toast would be satisfactory. Why break routine?

Toast toasting and coffee brewing she yawned, driving away her drowsiness. Then a small thought hit her, where was she getting ready to go? Damnitt, no work to go to today. She looked at the integrated digital clock on her microwave. It read 8:43 am. Even if she did have work she would be well behind schedule, she usually got to work for 8:30 am to miss the morning rush and get started before USR became too busy. Slightly crestfallen she continued to make her breakfast. She needed to get up anyway, and she _definitely_ needed a shower, but what was she going to do all day? She was a poor conversationalist. Sonny was bound to have limits to his patience and she bet that near-constant psyche analyses all day would be a swift and direct route there. She felt the need for the comfort of routine, and realised it would be an uncertain world for the next few days, weeks or even months.

Still pondering upon possible activities for the day ahead she carried her breakfast through and sat next to Sonny, setting the plate on her lap and sipping the hot coffee. She was relieved to see that Sonny had switched over to CNC-828. "So, what's happening in the world today?" She knew it would scroll across the bottom of the screen, but she wanted to get Sonny talking. If she could encourage him to 'go off on one' she wouldn't have to say much. It was a tactic she used many times on her colleagues to cover up her communication difficulties.

"As far as I can gather, USR is denying that anything happened with V.I.K.I."

She choked on her toast in surprise.

"They are blaming the NS-5's aberrant behaviour on terrorists. According to a statement just released by USR, they used an as-yet un-named, elite 'hacker' organisation to infiltrate the central system. Apparently, they wiped V.I.K.I.'s brain, introduced a payload of digital viruses, worms and hydras to permanently cripple USR and took control of the NS-5 uplink to get a convenient super-army. It was only halted by USR security agents who made the decision to completely destroy V.I.K.I. in order to sever the connection." He furrowed his brow in thought. "Is USR 'protecting their asses', as Detective Spooner would put it? I am sure that it is an untrue story, I don't recall any of those events."

She had just taken a large chunk out of a piece of toast, so she merely nodded as she chewed.

"I am happy that they are defending the robots, however." He beamed.

Susan glared at the TV, chewing slowly and thoughtfully. She felt a little disgruntled about not being credited for her role in saving humanity. It was a bit of a kick in the teeth to say the least. However, on a brighter note, it meant USR would probably survive, and so would her job. "Sonny, I don't mean to dampen your spirits, but USR is a profit orientated organisation. They are only concerned with what's best for their shareholders."

"Yes, but, they get their profit from robots, so they will protect them."

"They will Sonny, but probably not in the ways you are bound to be hoping for." She mulled over her thoughts a little. "I'm telling you now that I feel a little…uneasy with this. Holes in the truth this large will need more than just a tissue of lies to conceal. They are going to need to do allot of patching up if the public are going to buy this. After all, which terrorist group and hackers are they going to blame?" She swallowed a mouthful of coffee. "I can see you, me and Detective Spooner being…popular with the USR executives. I'll bet you any money that V.I.K.I. used her over-spill hard drives for storing simple format information like security video. Nanites have no power over purely electrical hardware." She finished her coffee. "I'm going to have a shower. If the phone goes, don't pick it up, and don't answer the door." She paused. "Unless it's Spooner."

She left the remaining toast crust and the dregs of her coffee on the surface above the dishwasher and carefully extracted the first-aid kit from its resting-place in a high cupboard. Her back was very stiff and typically, it was on the top shelf, buried under a stack of other rarely-if-ever-used odds and ends. It was only her newly acquired, coffee-based alertness that saved her from a shower of stainless-steel kebab skewers. She only wanted a fresh bandage and was having to run a gauntlet of accidentally self-set, home-made booby-traps. Thank god she wasn't desperate for medical attention, this was definitely poor home health-and-safety. Her brow furrowed. Why did she even have kebab skewers?

It was actually an old briefcase of hers that she had converted into a first-aid kit by scrawling 'FIRST-AID' on both sides with a big, old, black marker-pen. It contained all the necessary equipment, just the original box the items came in was too big and awkward, and it took up too much space. Although, she hadn't foreseen at the time that it had a serious downside in that it was easy to throw stuff on top of it, and she had done just that. With sharp objects.

She flicked the clasps undone and lifted the graffitied silver lid. She was sure she had arranged the items neatly once, but she was greeted with a sea of bandages, unrolled gauze, tubes of antiseptic and burn creams and various shaped plasters. Sorting through the mess she found a tube bandage of applicable girth and exited for a shower.

The force of the water falling on her shoulders was beginning to ease the tension in her muscles and the warmth of it was driving the stiffness from her joints. She felt like one gigantic bruise, and she was beginning to look like it too. Her left hip and thigh almost hummed and were turning an ominous green-grey colour that promised the rising of a truly impressive, expansive welt. Her lower ribs hurt more, but they hadn't even begun discolouring yet. She had a body-wide collection of smaller bruises, varying in colour through brown, yellow, green, blue, black, purple and grey. One particularly grim looking one on her shin had a smattered latticework of red, swollen capillaries stretched across the deathly, puffy, plum-coloured swelling beneath. That one was quite sickening to look at.

She dreaded to think what would happen if security footage from V.I.K.I.'s last few hours had remained intact in her over spill drives. She suspected that she would be called before the board of executives and reminded of her contract's legally binding company privacy policy. Not that she would have shouted about what had happened. She was quite against USR neglecting to tell the truth, but so much rode on this matter that she was more than willing to swallow her own opinions. She wasn't even sure what her opinions were yet. She knew Sonny needed to be protected, the future of robots needed to be secured and USR needed to do allot of work to recover.

Several different scenarios played over in her mind, each one just as likely as the other, some with more pleasurable outcomes than others. She shrugged her concerns off as much as she could. There was no use postulating when she had so few facts to work with. If USR needed to speak with her, they had her number. She massaged her right wrist tenderly. She had to be careful not to worry too much. Stress was not her friend. "Blue skies, green trees." She murmured jokingly to herself with a smirk. Dr. Kerry came out with some real tripe sometimes.

She recalled her conversation with Sonny the previous night. God, she had sounded so like Dr. Kerry herself. Ugh, she couldn't stand_ that _woman, trying to beat her at her own games. She was such an infuriating, patronising, irritating woman. It was insulting enough that Robertson had forced her to have anything to do with Melissa Kerry, but implying that it would 'help alleviate some problems' was only a few nanometers from enraging. She had protested bitterly, but Lawrence had told her to stop being so childishly stubborn and placed her on the waiting list for the USR employee psychiatrist. She remembered stalking from his office and prowling back to her own in a mood so bitter she was confident that nearby milk would have curdled. When her appointment came she had spent the hour-long session staring daggers at Melissa and throwing all questions back at her. Thank god Sonny was a more willing and co-operative patient than she was. Well, he just had a very genuine personality.

What was she going to do today? Probably try futilely not to worry about things that she had no control over, end up getting in another anxiety-paranoia attack and be overcome with the need to drink. Again. She sighed and started to wash her hair. She should probably try to 'socialise' with Sonny. She wasn't much of a social creature, her people skills were notoriously poor, but Sonny needed the mental stimulation and encouragement. She had the distinct impression that he was very in touch with his emotions, and he probably hadn't put up many mental walls yet. He was a sensitive being, and he probably wasn't capable of letting insults or cruel remarks 'roll off his back' yet. Then again, he had exhibited unexpected mental dexterity back up in Robertson's office. He had put on an extremely convincing act.

_"This is why you created us." _

_Those words had chilled her blood, sending all the hairs on the back of her neck on end. She only vaguely registered V.I.K.I. preaching her soulless cause for a world of cold logic as she stared at Sonny in a combination of dismay and disbelief._

"_Yes V.I.K.I., undeniable. I can see now. The created must sometimes protect the creator, even against his will. I think I finally understand why Dr. Lanning created me."_

_Every step Sonny took towards her chipped away at her heart. Here was a robot capable of so much that he was totally unique, any yet like so many great masterpieces throughout history, he was corrupted so easily. He had taken insurmountable time, skill, love and patience to create, but was destroyed in only a fraction of the time and with a shadow of the effort taken. Creation took so much effort, and destruction so very little. If such dedication could be wasted so easily, what was the point in trying? Physical conflict was so senseless she had thought it was a thing of the past. Like a beautiful statue of marble shattered in a siege, an exquisite painting obliterated by fire, or an irreplaceably awe-inspiring building reduced to rubble by bombs, Sonny was to follow. How could this happen in America, the land of the free? A world ravaged by war flashed in her mind. A whispered "No" was all the protest she could summon._

_"The suicidal reign of mankind has finally come to it's end."_

_This was far worse than the demolishing of an object. The corruption of a young mind was far more tragic than that. Those bright blue eyes that had shone with such passion now seemed so cold and callous. Had be been seduced so easily by the company of his own kind and V.I.K.I.'s treacherously depraved logic? Frustrated anger flared in her heart. Oh how she longed to empty every round the handgun contained into that vile bitch's shimmering features._

"_No, Sonny." She hoped his name would bring him back, although she held little hope for it. She tensed the muscles in her gun arm. It would break her heart to have to shoot him, she wasn't sure she was even capable of doing it, but there was so much at risk here. Things like lives, nation-wide freedom and human rights. The things that really mattered. Even if she failed to fire on him, Spooner would. He seemed to have no qualms about shooting robots._

_Moving quicker than she could register and respond to, Sonny snatched hold of her hand containing the borrowed firearm and wrenched her body round by her wrist. The pain that flared viciously in her locked wrist as he brutally twisted it forced her to comply and she stumbled submissively into his waiting grasp. His fingers curled tightly around her upper arm, pinning her with inhuman strength and she felt the cold mouth of the handgun kiss her temple. She tried to recoil only to find herself trapped. Her breathing quickened and sharpened with fear._

_Spooner's emotionless, monotone voice commanded "Let her go."_

_She looked to him for help but came face to face with the barrel of his rifle. _

"_By the time you fire, I will have moved Dr. Calvin's head into the path of your bullet."_

_Was this how her life was going to end? Under a hail of gunfire? She could feel the fear for her life lashing at her composure like storm waves at a sea wall. She succumbed. All rational thought swept away leaving her with nothing but a swamping sense of dread "Don't do this, Sonny." She desperately pleaded._

She drew in a short, sharp hiss through clenched teeth as her over-zealous scrubbing opened the cut on her temple and shampoo flowed in. It stung like hell. She stopped and washed the lather off a hand before holding it tentatively to the screaming wound. Thankfully the stitches remained intact. When she examined her hand she was relieved to find only a little, very watered-down blood. She resumed washing her hair, skipping to the rinse and being particularly gentle.

Sonny must have been very convincing, she loved robots and always had. It would have taken allot to waver her trust, and she had truly believed Sonny had digressed. She briefly wondered what Spooner must have made of it. In all honesty she was amazed he hadn't blown Sonny to bits at the first opportunity.

Feeling invigorated and cheered by the shower she turned the water off and cautiously wrung her hair out. Caught up in a good mood, or some childish, stress-induced regression she doodled in the condensation that clouded the clear glass of her shower unit. She regarded her creation curiously. The hand print was good, but the other thing was _supposed_ to be a cloud, but if anything at all it resembled a potato. Taken back by her unusual behaviour, she retaliated by poking the potato a couple of eyes and scrawling a mouth across its newfound face. She could draw up schematics and statistical diagrams but she couldn't cope with clouds. Maybe she was going insane. Clouds had no defined shape, they weren't even solid objects. How was it possible to fail to draw a cloud? Why was the potato now smiling?

She loosely towelled herself dry and slung her kimono on. It was too humid in the bathroom to dry off properly and all her clean clothes were in her bedroom anyway. She tied the gown up tight and collected a couple of towels, her pyjamas and the bandage before exiting.

As she passed the TV room, Sonny glanced over his shoulder at her and did an instant double take. She stopped in her tracks and gave him a questioning look.

"…Your head is bleeding."

She juggled the armful of fabric to free a hand. She was bleeding a little. A drop of blood had crawled out from the hairline at her temple. "It's okay, I just softened the scab up in the shower, it's fine."

He continued to stare.

"Honest."

He offered a quick smile and turned back to the TV.

He was odd at times. She went into her room to dress.

She had been in her room no longer than a minute before there was a knock at her bedroom door.

"Susan, Detective Spooner is on the phone."

She rolled her eyes. She had got as far as bra and pants. Typical. How the hell did men know? It was uncanny timing on his part, more like luck than probability. She walked to the door and stood behind it to open it a little, being careful to remain hidden. Sonny's hand appeared through the gap, opened flat with the tiny ear piece nestled in his palm. "Thank you." She plucked it from his hand and once he withdrew, she closed the door.

To make the best of a displeasing situation, at least she didn't have to phone him to give him a piece of her mind. She hooked the little device into her ear and continued to get dressed. "Hello?"

"So it's _Susan_ now is it?"

She could almost hear the smirk on his face. He was so immature. "Yes, it would happen to be my name." She muttered sarcastically.

He chuckled to himself. "I was just phoning to see if you'd heard from Sonny, but as he answered the phone I think my question's answered. You seen the news?"

"Yes, I have seen the news."

"Terrorism again. You'd think they could have been more creative."

"Perhaps." She responded with disinterest, tugging at the stuck zip on her trousers.

"So…black or white?"

"What?"

"Come on, Sonny told me you were getting changed. Black or white? I doubt red…or are you an animal-print girl?" He cackled insanely to himself.

The nerve! "For Christ's sake Detective! The colour of my underwear is none of your damn business!" Not that she was going to tell him, but it was black.

"Who said anything about underwear?"

"Ugh," he was only doing it to wind her up "and before you ask, I am actually fully dressed." She lied.

He laughed. "Now that's just screaming out 'guilty conscience'. I thought you were a shrink?"

She disliked senseless violence and destruction, but she promised herself it would be okay to give him a hearty slap when next they met.

"What happened last night? What with Sonny stopping over, first-name basis and your defensiveness anyone would think you'd been up to somethang."

She was not in the mood for dealing with people this morning, least of all Spooner brandishing his 'special' sense of humour and typically male, innuendo obsessed manner. One side of her brain chanted; 'he's just doing it for attention, ignore him and he'll get bored', whereas the other screamed out; 'if he wants to get a reaction out of you that badly, give him one!' She calmed herself. "If you've quite finished Detective, neither me or Sonny got much sleep last night." She decided not to tell him about Sonny's nightmare. He didn't need to know, and Sonny deserved the right to some privacy. "Before your depraved, perverse and obviously frustrated mind draws any more disgracefully absurd conclusions, I'll just let you know that after you let him wander off on his own he was shot."

The subtle hints of 'shut up' seemed to have reached the small part of Spooner's brain that contained any intelligence. "Is he all right?"

"He is now, but I had to replace both his arms."

"Okay."

"…Okay? Is that all you have to say?" She hissed. He was such an irresponsible bastard.

"Calm down, calm down! That tone of voice usually means a woman is about to verbally tear your arm off and beat you to within an inch of your life with the wet end, you going to let me know why?"

"He got shot Spooner! Twice!"

"Yeah, but you fixed it!"

"He feels pain you prat! Would you behave like this if a human was shot?"

"Okay, okay!" He paused. "I'm sorry he got shot, and I hope he feels better soon. Anyway, it's not like I just 'let him wander off'. He was following me one minute, the next he wasn't. He just vanished. I called out for him but I could hardly go round asking people if they had seen a blue-eyed, conscious NS-5 that responded to the name of 'Sonny'. I'd have been locked up! Thanks to you lot not believing me about the robots I've already come dead close to being taken away to the nut farm as it is."

Susan thought about his defence as she looked for a top to wear. She had a very modest sized wardrobe, and most of that was USR uniforms. She found an old silver-grey shirt that had been part of the uniform before the 10th anniversary re-fit.

"How about you? You still in one piece?"

She tried to relax a bit. She was sure she could manage a proper conversation with Spooner if she tried. "Yes, I am only lightly wounded. I've had a couple of stitches on my head but other than that it's all minor cuts and bruises. What about yourself?" She tugged the tube bandage on and cut a hole for her thumb.

"Broken arm." He sounded pleased, as if by fracturing his bones he had beaten her meagre number of stitches in some imaginary competition of his.

Trying to pretend that he didn't irritate her beyond all reason she continued. "How badly, and when? You seemed fine when I left you. Or do you mean your cybernetic arm?"

"Oh no, apart from tearing the imitation-skin off my fake arm is fine. I think you could set a grenade off in that hand and it would survive." He chuckled. "Lanning did a great job of it."

"I'm sure that your cybernetic arm would survive a small, close-range explosion. However the rest of your body would be a different matter."

"Yeah, well I've broken my 'radius' or something. Anyway, glad to hear you're both fine, but I've got to go, someone else is trying to call me. Could be important. Tell Sonny I'm glad he's OK, and try not to drool over him too much. It's unseemly behaviour for a young lady like yourself."

Really struggling to bite back an angry retort, she reigned herself in with the consolation that at least the end of the conversation had arrived. "I will do. Bye."

"See ya." He hung up.

She buttoned up the shirt and grabbed a comb, beginning the battle with her towel-dried, knotted hair on her way to the TV room.


	4. One Glass

Disclaimer: Please note that I do not own the characters, concept or plot of the 'I, Robot' book or film.

Susan felt disgusted with herself for the longing, needy gazes she had been giving the small amount of amber liquid lurking in the bottom of the decanter all day. It was only one glass's worth, not enough to really have much of an effect.

She had enjoyed spending time with Sonny today, it had been surprisingly relaxing. She had worried that it would be awkward, and she had compiled a list of things she could excuse herself from his company to go and complete, but she hadn't done anything all day other than sit and chat with him. Conversation had flowed easily, even in spite of Sonny's occasional inability to communicate some thoughts or feelings and his clumsiness with some subjects. They had talked about nothing in particular, just things on TV, music and human life.

She had gone to the kitchen to tidy up, leaving Sonny to his documentary on plant life. She grabbed the kebab skewers that had nearly rained down on her earlier and threw them in the correct recycling bin. They had never been used, and she doubted that they would ever come in handy. She idly sorted through the first-aid kit, organising the items in a regimented fashion and loading up the dishwasher. She had a bit of a headache, probably from spending the day indoors in front of the TV.

Today had been the most restful day in her life for a considerable time. Probably a number of years. So why was the image of the decanter haunting her mind? She drank to cope with stress, or at least that's what she told herself. It was there almost constantly in the back of her mind, and had been for a few hours. It lurked behind her thoughts, tempting her with the promise of its intoxicating aroma. She could almost taste it. Deliciously sweet and peachy with a sharp edge of fire that left her throat smouldering and yearning for more. Translucent, umber coloured drink poured over ice.

She noticed another skewer lying on the work surface. She picked it up and absent-mindedly turned it over in her hands. Her mouth was watering and the fine hairs on her neck, arms and shoulders rose up with a tingling sensation. It wasn't like she was going to drink herself under in front of Sonny. There was just enough in the house for one glass, so she couldn't drink any more than one glass. One glass wouldn't have much of an effect. Not at all. It would just be nice to savour the taste. One glass couldn't hurt, could it? If anything at all it would probably just help to ease her headache.

She wasn't too dismayed to find herself walking towards the waiting alcohol, but as soon as she began pouring it she began to feel a twinge of guilt. She shouldn't drink with Sonny around, not even just one glass.

The more she thought about it though, the less convincing it became. It's not like he could pick it up as a bad habit, he was a robot, he couldn't drink at all. She wouldn't get as inebriated as she had been the previous night, this was just one glass, and he hadn't seemed to be alarmed or in any way phased by her condition. Granted, it was probably because he didn't know about or understand the purpose or consequences of alcohol, but even if he did she was a responsible adult. It was legal and she could take care of herself. She couldn't exactly pour it back into the decanter now, she wasn't some kind of alcoholic, and it would be a waste to throw it away.

She brought the glass to her lips and it didn't disappoint. The first taste of the evening was always the best. She instantly felt calmer and warmer inside. Grasping the glass fairly protectively, she returned to the couch, sitting at the opposite end from Sonny.

"Sonny, how did you get into this apartment building yesterday?"

"I climbed. The door on the roof was unlocked." He responded abruptly, engrossed in his documentary.

Accepting the short answer as better than nothing she grafted her attention back onto her drink.

"Why do humans accept that plants are alive, but find it so hard to think of robots as being alive?" Sonny asked as the program's credits rolled.

"I don't know. You'd think humans would find it easier to associate with robots than plants. Your kind is far easier to relate to than say, for example, a tree. You move, look and behave more like a human than a tree ever does." She took another thoughtful sip of her drink. "Maybe it's because humans were confident that they could create inorganic intelligence, but never thought about the possibility of giving birth to inorganic life."

He smiled as he brought up the TV guide on-screen. "Thank you."

"I'm only guessing Sonny, I don't really know."

"No, I meant thank you for using 'inorganic'. Most humans seem to think of us as 'artificial', 'an imitation of life'. We are quite real, and I feel quite alive. I like the way you regard us." He turned his soft blue eyes to her. "I think you may be as 'unique' to your kind as I am to mine."

She was hesitant to speak. He was so genuine with his compliments to her. "It could just be that humans are fearful of the concept of robots becoming 'alive'. Your physical and mental capabilities reach far beyond the limits of the human body and mind. 'Life' may be the last shield some humans are hiding behind. The public probably fears robots surpassing them, becoming better than them, making them…obsolete."

He shook his head. "Humans will never become 'obsolete'. All life is precious."

She was amazed. In many respects he was so like a child, but in others he seemed to have wisdom far beyond reason. Dr. Lanning seemed to have imparted good values on him, and in all truth, she couldn't think of a man more perfect for the task of 'raising' Sonny than Alfred. Alfred was a great man, there was no denying that. He had such an understanding of the world, of human nature and had founded USR, virtually invented robotics, he had created the Three Laws and then broken them. He had been a very good friend to her, and she owed him much. She owed him more than 'much', her life today was rooted on Alfred's unbound kindness. He would be sorely missed, by many people. She felt her eyes begin to well up, and she blinked rapidly to prevent tears from forming.

"I doubt that humans even could become obsolete. It doesn't seem to be something that would come easily to human…is 'nature' the right word?"

"Yes. Nature fits." She took a mouthful of the pleasantly cold yet fiery drink.

"You sound sorrowful. What is wrong?"

"I was just thinking of Dr. Lanning."

"You knew him well, didn't you?" He said with a touch of sadness.

She thought about the question for a while before answering. "I very nearly said 'yes', but in actual fact, I did not know him well at all. I considered him a good friend of mine though. A very good friend, one of the very small group of people I think of as 'friends'." That was a vast understatement. She could count her friends on the fingers of one hand. Without using her thumb. "It was more that he knew me. He knew me very well, better than I know myself. He helped me through a very difficult period. He always seemed to know exactly to say. It was…"

"Almost as if he could feel your thoughts." Sonny gently added, staring into space distantly.

"Yes." She drained her glass. "He did seem to have the ability to read minds. He was a very sympathetic, considerate, supportive man. It was almost like he understood your personality just from your body language and the way you said things, and he could put himself in your perspective. He could then grasp the effects it had on you as an individual and respond in a way that helped like nothing else ever could."

Sonny nodded knowingly.

The room was smothered in a heavy silence of sadness. Sonny sat motionless in thought, and she looked down at her glass. Alfred had told her to watch her drinking. She felt very guilty about this single glass now that she had guzzled the lot. It seemed so much worse when she realised she had drunk her house dry.

The phone rang out, slicing through the quiet stillness.

She wasn't quick to pick it up, she was in even less of a frame of mind to cope with Spooner's jovial banter now than she was earlier. The high pitched, insect like sound died as she lifted the earpiece and nestled it in place. "Hello?"

"Good evening Dr. Calvin, this is Mr. Hine, Head of the US Robotics' Board of Chief Executives Committee." His voice was very deep and resonate, even over the phone. It was the kind of voice that commanded authority, which was bound to be an asset to him if Chief Executive Committee meetings were anything at all like the Heads of Department meetings she had attended. Rational, intelligent doctors and scientists occasionally became noisy, temperamental creatures when they felt that their opinions were being neglected. She had met Mr. Hine on very few occasions, and his voice was very deceptive, for Thomas was a short, balding man in his early fifties.

"Good evening Sir."

"I trust that you are well?"

"Yes Sir, I am well, I…"

"Careful how you choose your words, doctor." He cut in, sounding uncharacteristically concerned. "We do not want to let unnecessary information slip to the media if it is at all avoidable."

"Of course, I can appreciate that these are sensitive, unpredictable and uncertain times for USR. I was only going to state that I am well, I have sustained only minor injuries, and I was about to inquire as to your well-being."

"Thank you for understanding current situations doctor." He sounded relieved. "I myself have not fared so well. I may yet loose my right hand."

"I am sorry to hear that you have been so severely wounded. I suspect though that you have contacted me for reasons other than to exact a personal health check?"

"Yes Dr. Calvin, we have many important matters to discuss. I have already contacted your…"

"Sir, I understand what it is that you are speaking of." She interrupted, there was no benefit to saying more than absolutely necessary. Who knows who was listening in these unsettled times. Although her vigilance was probably pointless if they had already contacted Spooner, knowing his lack of reserve.

"Then you also understand that I need to meet you in the very near future?"

"Would tomorrow morning suffice?"

"That would be exemplary. Can I expect you in my office at 9:15 tomorrow morning?"

"Yes Sir."

"Thank you for your co-operation Dr. Calvin. USR benefits greatly from your loyalty and professionalism. I shall personally ensure that it does not go un-noted and I will see you tomorrow."

"Goodbye Sir."

"Goodbye doctor."

She removed the earpiece and placed it back in its cradle. She rubbed her face with the palms of both hands in exasperation as stress climbed back into her mind and she swept her hair from her face. Sonny was eagerly awaiting information if the uncertain look on his soft, white features was anything to go by.

"Was that USR?" He asked.

"Yes it was, it was Mr. Hine."

Sonny looked away thoughtfully, his eyes moving in a series of small rapid movements as if reading something. "Mr. Thomas Hine, Head of USR Board of Chief Executives Committee." He smiled. "He holds a position of much respect, doesn't he? I am less surprised by your highly formal language." His expression changed to one of worry. "The security feeds…"

"Don't worry Sonny, I'll make sure the meeting ends in your favour."

He didn't look convinced.

"USR are trying to hide the truth, Sonny. The company's reputation is now balanced upon whether they can hold their concocted version of events together. I have information, and information is power in this world. Particularly if it reveals an unwanted truth."

"You are going to _blackmail_ him?" Sonny sounded altogether unhappy about the concept. Actually, he sounded more horrified than anything else.

"No!" Christ, had he caught her out? It wasn't really blackmail as such… "It's more like…"

"Bribery?"

"You've got the wrong end of the stick…"

"Stick? You're going to hit Mr. Hine? I don't see how that will help matters."

She slapped her hand over her eyes with frustration. "For Christ's sake, Sonny. Do you really think I'd turn up to a meeting with a powerful, senior member of staff, smack him over the head with a stick and expect my demands to be met?"

"…No."

"It's just an expression. When you say 'wrong end of the stick' you are implying that the person in question is taking the wrong approach to a concept."

"Oh."

"I'm tired. I haven't had a decent, good night's sleep in far too long, and I shall need my wits about me tomorrow. I think it may turn out to be a battle of mental agility." She started walking towards her room, muttering to herself. "Although if Spooner's there it will probably turn into a battle with sticks rather than wits. Mental agility of a pregnant hippopotamus. Too shoot-first-ask-questions-later for my liking. Utter prat if you ask me."

-o-o-o-o-o-

He had been more than a little foolish. He should have realised it was another one of these human 'sayings' that cropped up so often and seemed to have the most random uses and meanings. Susan didn't appear to be the physically aggressive kind of human. To use one expression he was familiar with, he hadn't so much 'jumped to conclusions' as he had 'thrown himself head-long' into them.

He had really and truly enjoyed himself today. Susan had made him feel 'at home' in her residence. She hadn't minded his questions and needs for explanations, and she had excused his misunderstandings. Apart from about her intentions for the meeting that she was going to tomorrow, she had been exceptionally patient with him. She hadn't taken to his insinuations well. He must have just pushed it too far…or he had insulted her.

He hadn't insulted her had he? Perhaps he had. He must have! He had suspected her of bribery, blackmail and physical violence. Susan wasn't like that. He should have trusted her, she was a kind, lovely person. It wasn't that he didn't trust her, he was scared. USR didn't appreciate his existence in the least. They had tried to decommission him once before, they would probably try to do so again. If they did, he doubted that he would be so lucky as to escape a second time round. He did not want to die.

Fetching his pillow and blanket he worried more about his insults. Susan had welcomed him into her home and shown him nothing but kindness. All he had given her in the way of appreciation was damage to her furniture, sleep deprivation and insults. He felt terrible, he was behaving so ungratefully and was such a poor house guest. This was the woman who had shown him mercy and freed him from the fate USR had bestowed upon him, and had replaced his painful, damaged arms. She deserved better than this.

What should he do to make up for it? Was there something specific that humans would do in this situation? He tore through his memories frantically looking for an answer, and unsurprisingly he again came up with nothing. What should he do?

He perched on the sofa, his head leaning on one hand, a corner of his blanket tightly held in the other. His mind was running in circles, chasing an elusive answer. Wait…running? Susan had told him not to do that. He shouldn't be trying to 'run before he could walk'. He grinned a little to himself. These 'sayings' really were useful after all! Humans were such clever beings when it came to things like this.

Never mind what he _should_ do, what _could_ he do? '…_but since logic was a comfort he was trying to live without, he would just have to ask Susan's forgiveness for his odd moments_'. Of course! He could be so blinded by himself sometimes. An apology would definitely be a start.

He excitedly sprung to his feet and scurried to her bedroom door. As with this morning when Spooner had called, he very nearly just turned the handle and strolled in. As with this morning he also managed to stop himself just in time and knocked instead.

"Come in."

He hadn't been expecting that. He slowly opened the door a little and poked his head round. The room was much like the rest of her home, pale coloured, clean lines and tidy. There was a familiar silver suit folded over the back of a chair in one corner, a full-length mirror, wardrobes, lamp…

"Yes Sonny?"

There was also a large bed too. Much bigger than his father's bed back in the laboratory, it was wider, longer and deeper. The bedcovers were a pretty shade of pale, slate grey, and Susan sat on top, leant back against the headboard. She had a book in her hands, which she placed face-down on a small table beside the bed to keep her place. Thankfully she was wearing a tee shirt this time rather than something of a strappy nature as with the previous night. Otherwise, his voice would have probably been slain on the spot. "I just wanted to apologise for insulting you."

"You didn't insult me Sonny. I'm sorry I'm getting so short-tempered, I need some rest. Would you like to come in properly? It's considered impolite to lurk in doorways."

He nimbly slipped in and closed the door behind him. He should have expected himself to do something like that. He was behaving impolitely when he was trying to offer apologies for his idiotic assumptions. So typical of him, he couldn't get anything right. "I would also like to apologise for damaging your sofa."

"Yeah, I'm sorry I was so rough with your arm."

"I'm sorry for preventing you from sleeping much last night."

"Don't feel guilty about that Sonny, it was to be expected. I was surprised but relieved by it. I would have worried far more if it hadn't had much of an effect on you." She paused. "Will you be okay tonight?"

"Yes, I think so." He couldn't think of anything else he wanted to apologise for off the top of his head, and he now felt a bit out of place. He was unsure of what his current course of action should be. Should he be leaving? Or talking? He felt a bit pressured, Susan was looking at him and it was making him nervous. He remembered the book on her bedside table. "Do you have 'Hansel and Gretel'? I like that story very much, I think that reading it again would help me get to sleep."

She smiled. "No, I don't. Am I the only one who's not read that damn book?"

"You've _never_ read Hansel and Gretel?" He was amazed, he had read that book countless times throughout his life in Alfred's laboratory. The idea of someone having never read it was too bizarre to contemplate.

"I know, I know, 'how did I grow up without reading Hansel and Gretel'. Spooner gave me the talk."

"How _did_ you grow up without it?" He inquired curiously, eager for an explanation as to how Susan had missed out on such an important tale.

"I was never very interested in fiction. It always seemed like wasted reading that could have gone into reading up facts and research papers."

"Did your father not read it to you?" Alfred had read it to him a few times. Even though he was quite capable of understanding the words it had helped the development of his emotions to hear it as it was meant to be read. His father would put emphasis on the right parts, give the book 'atmosphere' and make the characters sound more human. He could remember only becoming particularly frightened of the witch when Alfred read it. When she was speaking he would put on a scary, evil voice.

"No, my father didn't read it to me."

"Why?" As soon as he said it the look on Susan's face made him regret asking.

"I don't know." She sounded irritated.

He stood rooted nervously to the spot. He was quite sure that now was the point where he should be leaving, but he didn't want to. It was too dark in the rest of Susan's open-plan apartment, but more importantly, it was too quiet. Well, there were the sounds of the city outside, but it wasn't the same. All his young life he had slept in that laboratory listening to his father's heavy snoring. Susan didn't snore, but the way her breathing pattern slowed down and shallowed out into a relaxed rhythm was every bit as comforting. He was extremely tempted to ask if she wouldn't mind him sleeping in the chair in the corner of the room, but he didn't think it was appropriate.

"You aren't confident that you are ready to go to sleep, are you?"

He was less than a hand's length short of two meters tall, his reactions were quicker than any human's, he had 114 kilograms of high density metal and tough plastic to put behind his punches and he could lift and carry more than three times that. What did he have to fear? What could possibly make him feel so nervous, and why did being with Susan make him feel so secure? What did he think she could do that he couldn't? Still, that was how his unpredictable emotions made him feel, and he didn't know how to change it. "No."

"Well I'm not going to let you sleep in the chair."

She must have noticed the glances he had passed in the chair's direction. He looked at the chair longingly, he would have been quiet. He could have put his blanket over his head if the blue light he emitted bothered her, and he could have sat still all night if he didn't sleep.

"Come on Sonny, don't pretend you don't understand."

She was patting the bed. Patting it in that encouraging, 'trust me' way that she did. She couldn't honestly mean… "I'm not allowed on the bed." He said with conviction. "It was the only thing I wasn't allowed on."

"That's probably because USR lab cots are not really big enough to share. There's plenty of space."

He walked round to the side of the bed Susan wasn't sat on and looked at it with uncertainty. "I'll make it messy. I walk around outside like this, all the time. It's not like I can take my outdoor clothes off for bed."

The look on her face suggested that he was being silly. "If you do, which I doubt, we can always wash it."

He pointed at his feet. "Can't take my shoes off."

"Sonny, stop being ridiculous. I said it doesn't matter."

Not wanting to provoke Susan any more, and desperately trying to be well behaved and polite, he decided it would be best to respect her wishes. She seemed to want him to sleep on her bed, and although it was an odd notion, he was compliant, cautiously turning around and sitting on the bed. He was surprised at how far he sunk into it, but when he came to a halt he gently twisted round, carefully swinging his legs onto the bed. He leant back with his head on the pillow and he stretched himself out.

He had been sceptical of the beds' excessive softness, but he could appreciate the better points of it now he was flat on his back. It moulded to the contours of his body and took away a good proportion of the forces acting on his spine. He felt a lot lighter, and his components were thanking him for it. "That's actually very nice." He looked over to Susan and smiled.

"Just try not to move around too much in the night please. I really need to sleep through." She wriggled under the duvet and curled up on her side. She yawned. "How well do you know the story of Hansel and Gretel?"

"Every word."

"Would you mind sharing?"

"You would like me to recite the story for you?" He was surprised. She had said she didn't like fiction.

"Only if you don't mind."

He thought about it for a moment. "It won't be the same without the pictures though."

"That's all right, my eyes are closed anyway. Could you turn the light down though, and switch it off when you go to sleep? I think I'm likely to drop off before you finish, if you don't mind. The control is the silver rectangle on the edge of the headboard."

"I may as well put it off now, I can see in the dark." He reached one arm up over his head and tapped the touch sensitive control. The light blinked off.

Susan buried herself deeper under the duvet. "When you're ready."

He settled his arms parallel with his body and closed his eyes. He remembered the illustrations that had accompanied the writing as clearly as photographs. He hoped he could find it again one day or at least another like it. He began in a clear, soft voice. "Near a great forest dwelt a poor woodcutter with his wife and his two children…"

He enjoyed telling the story. It was almost as good as having the book back, and a part of him swelled with some self-satisfying feeling at being able to recount the tale for Susan. He suspected that it was appeasing his second law, even though Susan had meant it as a request and not an order. He took great joy from successfully completing tasks, executing requests and even obeying orders, but that depended on who was giving them.

She was quiet, and he could tell that she had finally fallen asleep when he got to the part were the birds had eaten all the breadcrumbs. Her chest rose and fell slowly and gently and her pulse was leisurely and sedate. He continued for his own gratification, but much quieter as so not to wake her and pleased that he had in some way helped her off to sleep. By the time he reached the end he was only murmuring the words, meandering carelessly on the soft verge of sleep. He mumbled drowsily to himself and slid his arms under his borrowed pillow, cupping it around his head a little.

Perhaps he should have also apologised for staring at Susan when she came out of the bathroom that morning? Perhaps he should have, but she had come out wearing only that very thin material kimono. Wrapped tightly around her, it had clung to her evidently damp skin enchantingly. He was quickly developing quite an appreciation for her body's shape, and truthfully, he didn't feel _very_ bad about it. She was a sympathetic and understanding person, he was sure she would understand. She probably knew that he thought she was very pretty anyway.

He felt content. Susan had been right about being patient with himself and trying to relax. Today had been great and he had observed many new things concerning humans thanks to the television. Just by calming down and letting things happen as they came to him, he had picked up on things he had never noticed before. Susan's behaviour was influenced by external stimuli much more than he had expected or imagined. Not only what he was saying, but also how he said it could make subtle changes in her manner and mood. She would also talk to him more if he smiled at her.

He felt better throughout. His emotions were more refined and manageable, and his cores felt lighter, more fluid and free from the restrictive, mysterious pressures they had been hampered by lately. As he had been less tense today, his muscles felt looser and their attachments less stressed. He must have been incredibly highly-strung to make them feel like this. He had been so on-edge, like a coiled spring, ready to immediately unleash all his speed and strength at the slightest requirement, for days. His new and still unfamiliarly light arms gave him a weightless, floating sensation that was enforced by the way laying on Susan's bed comfortably supported his body. His mind lapsed into a tranquil and serene state, he could feel his mind slipping from the physical world and seeping into the realm of dreams.

"Goodnight Susan." He purred deeply.


	5. Windblown

**Disclaimer: Please note that I do not own the characters, concept or plot of the 'I, Robot' book or film**.

**Author's Note:** Chapter 5 was getting massive, so I decided to separate it into two chapters instead. Good point that my lovely readers get an update. Less good point this chapter is short. Anyway, chapter 6 is thus well under-way, but in the mean time, enjoy Chapter 5 : Windblown!

"Susan?"

She felt something smooth and cool touch her skin and it gently but firmly prodded her shoulder.

"Susan?"

She opened one eye a little. Sonny was kneeling on her bed with a look of curiosity in his bright blue eyes.

"Good morning." His elegant, translucent-white lips curved into a warm smile.

The sun was up, and it's pale morning rays were waiting behind her bedroom curtains, causing them to glow. She groaned. Morning already? She buried her head deep under the duvet, seeking a few more minutes sleep in the darkness beneath it.

She could feel Sonny moving around on the bed, hopefully getting up to leave her to sleep some more. No luck, her little dark sanctuary was disrupted as daylight flooded in. She opened her eyes to see Sonny's cheerful face peering under the duvet.

"Susan, when is your appointment with Mr. Hine?"

She furrowed her brow in an attempt to jog her morning-fog-clouded memory. Images of snow unexpectedly surfaced but subsided quickly, she must have dreamt about skiing again. Soon she remembered her phone conversation with Mr. Hine last night. He needed to see her about important matters urgently. What time was her appointment? "9:15 this morning, why?"

"My internal clock is reading 8:36 am."

Confused, she sat up and looked at her bedside alarm clock. It's green numbers pulsed 00:00… it didn't have power-cut reserves. V.I.K.I. had also killed her clock and her wake-up call. "SHIT!" She cursed, throwing the duvet off and scrambling out of bed she ran to the door and wrenched it open. "I'm going to be late!"

With the accuracy and menace of a guided missile she shot through her apartment towards the kitchen with the soul aim of obtaining coffee. She grabbed a mug and flipped the switch on the kettle, but an instant hissing sound alerted her that it contained insufficient amounts of water. Annoyed, she grabbed the kettle and opened the lid, offering it up to the tap and blasting a fair quantity of water into it. Spray erupted from the top of the appliance and showered across the work surfaces. She slammed the kettle back onto its base in a temper and smacked the switch.

Sonny appeared behind her. "Can I be of any assistance?"

She looked at the mug and coffee-pot. "Could you handle my coffee for me please?" She asked, beginning a mad dash back to the bedroom to get changed in the mean time.

"But I don't know how you like it!"

She paused. There was no time to discuss the finer points of coffee making and explain her tastes. She just needed coffee. "Black. No Sugar." She darted off. She didn't like it like that, but time was short and liberties like preference would have to wait. She would just have to try to make it up to her taste buds later.

Glad that she had already placed today's clothes on the chair in the corner of her bedroom, she dived for a hairbrush. No time to put her hair up, she just brushed it through and begun struggling into her clothes. Jumping into her silvery trousers, throwing her grey under shirt over her head and weaving her arms into her matching jacket she hurriedly dressed.

A knock on the door accompanied by Sonny's voice announced the arrival of coffee. She opened the door and grabbed the offered cup, virtually pouring the murky, dark liquid down her throat. She expected it to scald, but it wasn't too hot at all. She raised an eyebrow curiously.

"I thought you would do that."

He had put cold water in to balance the temperature. "Thank you."

Sonny smiled sweetly.

She couldn't stop and dish out praise. She handed him back the cup and went to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face.

Pretty much ready now, she exited the bathroom and found her heeled work boots. Dropping to the floor to wrestle with the accursed footwear, she finally succeeded in getting them on and doing them up. Everything seemed to be taking forever! Sod's law; if in a hurry, completing simple tasks becomes painfully slow.

Sonny came and stood over her, the long, banded, blue coat she usually wore to work lopped over one arm and the other held out in an offer to help her up. She accepted, grasping his deceptively delicate looking, strong hand and allowing him to effortlessly pull her to her feet.

"You will get yourself some breakfast at some point, won't you?" He asked, holding her coat out.

"Yes, I will." She turned, wriggling her arms into the sleeves of the coat. She shrugged to get it to sit comfortably on her shoulders as she checked her pockets for her house and car keycards and her cashcard. All present.

It was then that she felt the smooth tips of his cool, metal fingers gently stroke both sides of her neck simultaneously. Taken completely by surprise, her thoughts instantly evaporated and she felt her knees go weak as chill waves of pleasure flowed down her spine. Suddenly lost in the unexpected contact, her worries became forgotten and her troubles now seemed so insignificant and trivial, so wholly unimportant. Her appointment with Mr. Hine melted into obscurity and she stood still and limp, barely keeping to her feet as she let herself become reacquainted with the all-too unfamiliar, tender sensation flowing through her veins. His touch was so tentative and refined, and she felt him gather her hair from under the collar of her coat and set it loose on her shoulders.

"Have you forgotten something?" His courteous, intelligent voice inquired.

_Only how good the touch of another can feel._

"Susan? Have you fallen asleep?"

The concerns and tribulations of present times flooded back into her mind, sweeping away her sweet little moment of bliss with the force of a tidal wave. She frantically checked her pockets again and turned to leave, opening her front door. "I'll see you later Sonny."

"Good bye, and good luck."

She closed the door and ran as fast as her heels could safely carry her down the corridor, her blue coat trailing out behind her. She repeatedly hammered the button on the panel beside the closed steel doors until there was a mechanical chime and the elevator's doors automatically hissed open. She dove in and clearly called out "Garage floor 3".

"Good morning madam." Came the computerised voice. "Would you like to listen to some music?"

"Not today, thank you." She had never thanked the elevator before, but these were times full of surprises and changes. She slumped against the wall, listening to the whirring of the fast-moving mechanical components.

Times of surprises these were indeed. She felt more than a little dazed from Sonny's inadvertent stirring of her emotions. Particular emotions and instincts, that she had successfully kept dormant for several years, locked away in the darkest, deepest, most frigid recesses at the bottom of her heart, secreted away behind the protective shell of steel she had erected around herself. Feelings that experience had taught her were best buried alive and left alone in the empty, battered wasteland of her soul, cut off from the meddlesome nature of others by every millimetre of metaphorical distance she could put between herself and them. Feelings that if she couldn't destroy, and that wasn't for a lack of trying, she would keep imprisoned forever. She had kept her guard up for so long, ready to defend herself with every gram of her potent verbal aggression against anyone she could feel becoming too close for comfort.

Of all the hurts and pains she had endured in her life, all of them paled in comparison to the agony of complete and total betrayal that could only come from the stupidity of allowing anyone access to her heart. She had been such a fool, so easily blinded from the truth by his lies, so easily lead astray. Her misplaced trust had cost her dearly. His treacherous ways had poisoned her, destroyed her, torn her humanity from her and burned away her sensitivity. It had stung her far worse than the venom of any creature, and had rotted away like a festering wound in her chest.

Love was a fool's game. Only those blinded by stupidity, dumb trust and irrational denial couldn't see it for what it was. Love could overcome anything. It came with the promise of a sympathetic ear, comforting arms, consoling words and caring actions. However, love would override logic, and it all too frequently did. As with most 'good' things in life, love came at a price, and with risks. She had opened her heart to welcome love, but had never given a thought about what else might also slither in. It was like Pandora's box in reverse. In time, her words began to fall on deaf ears, and it had not taken long for his arms to turn into a source of fear and the cause of pain. His words became vicious and aggressive and his actions bore only spite and malice.

The coat of a leopard was beautiful, and its movements were sleek and graceful, but it was a predator none the less. Sly, cunning and deceitful, armed with fangs and claws it craved only to take, render and consume.

She had sworn never to allow anyone to toy with her again. In her mind, there was nothing in the world worth those kinds of risks. He had broken her, and she had gathered the pieces back together alone. She picked them up and placed them back, re-building herself. Assembling walls and defences, discarding unnecessary parts, removing necrotic and scarred tissue, she had re-constructed herself. She admitted that she was not the same person she had been. She was now darker, a cynical shadow of her former self. A colder twin, a reflection in the unfeeling, lifeless chill of a mirror. They thought she didn't know, but many of her colleagues called her 'The Ice Queen'. She understood why, and was satisfied. It had been difficult, but she had successfully stripped herself down to the bare minimum required to function, to operate efficiently. Running on bourbon, coffee, cheap food and little sleep she had existed in a regimented world of timetables, routine and logic for years. She had turned her heart numb and her soul to ice, almost completely.

"Garage, floor 3." The elevator chimed. The doors hissed open and she darted out, hurrying to her car.

Her sleek, midnight blue vehicle sat innocuously in the dim light of the garage. It looked brand new. She grasped the door handle, her thumb over the shimmering crystal blue sensor as it scanned her print. There was a deep 'thunk' as the doors unlocked, and she gave it a small, helpful pull to aid the door in opening. She climbed in.

This particular Volkswagen model was, in Susan's opinion, the most technically advanced car with the best balance of features on the current market. It was extremely environmentally friendly, efficient, reliable, had more buttons than she could have ever hoped for, stunningly designed interior and exterior and wouldn't depreciate in value as much as almost all other new models and makes. She was yet to learn how to make best use of all of its built in features, but most important of all, it had a top-of-the-range automatic pilot and satellite navigation package with a 'chauffeur' setting. She wasn't comfortable with driving it herself, she had never been too fond of manual vehicle operation. Plus, she still felt very unfamiliar with this new car.

She fished her car card from her pocket and inserted it into the slot on the dashboard. All the buttons, dials and meters on the dashboard lit up in a wave and the car's engine hummed to life in an extremely satisfying, cleverly designed manner. "USR please, and quickly." It heeded her request. The car's spherical wheels begun to roll and it reversed out of her parking space, then towards the security gate and out onto the cities' underground freeway network.

There was no traffic, which surprised her. Despite the frequent and numerous, barricaded-off lanes with damaged road surfaces or littered with rubble and the remains of vehicles there were no queues. There were few other vehicles on the road, giving her car the opportunity to charge along just shy of the 290kph speed limit. She looked at herself in her rear-view mirror. She had been to work without make-up several times, but never with her hair down. She hoped no one would notice.

Well, she hadn't picked herself up totally alone. Alfred had noticed her pain, and he had helped her. He was such an uncommonly kind man. She never felt threatened by him, probably because she felt and knew that their associations would never go beyond that of friendship. Their relationship had been purely platonic. There was just something about him that made him so easy to trust. He had almost become a father to her, the father figure she'd never had. She would often tell him that she would be forever grateful for what he had done for her, but now she would be forever in his debt. She would never be able to repay his kindness now, for death truly was eternal.

Apart from Alfred, she had come to feel most comfortable in the presence of robots. She understood them far better than humans, and their hardwired '3-Laws' made them safe and helpful companions. They had become almost angelic, incapable of evil or harm in her eyes. Even when she had first encountered Sonny, she refused to believe that a robot would harm a human, even if it could. He had not disappointed her, although she had been shocked to learn that he had played such a role in Alfred's death.

Back in that lab, during that diagnostic, his innocence, curiosity and nervousness had won her over completely. He was all this even when he had a capability to kill and destroy that surpassed that of any man who had ever existed. The mechanical body of metal he had been granted exceeded that of any man in every aspect she could think of, yet the superior speed and strength it gave him didn't seem to effect him. He didn't think of himself as being any better than others because of it. He seemed so…pure, uncorrupted by the heady arrogance that came hand in hand with power. Despite how troubled his life had been recently, he was still untouched by the cruel nature of the world. He was truly unique, and not only amongst robots. He was…_perfect_. He was genuine, honest and cute. When she looked into his beautiful azure eyes she could detect no trace of malice, cruelty or malevolence, only the inquisitive joyfulness of youth.

He always seemed so pleased to see her, interested in what she was saying and eager to help, he complimented her and made her smile. He made her feel wanted and needed, rather than just tolerating her existence, as was the feeling she got from the humans she knew. She hadn't noticed how strong her feelings for him had grown until she realised that she had kissed him. It had just happened, she had done it without thinking. She had shown real affection for someone for the first time in years, and Sonny had not made her feel a fool for it. _"I love you too."_ It had sounded strange to her ears and it still made her feel odd. He was just so full of life and emotion, and unlike her associates, he was neither ashamed of them nor frightened by them. Although he was still learning how to express himself, he was more expressive than anyone else she knew.

Like a windblown seed he had entered her life by chance, settling unexpectedly in a sheltered part of her heart. She could feel him growing on her, the feeling getting bigger day by day, growing quickly. If she were to adhere to the logic she had been surviving on all this time, she should tear the developing seedling out and discard it like a weed. She should leave it to the elements, leave it to die, its roots shrivelling in the dry air. But she didn't want to. For a reason that escaped her, she was not only tolerating its presence, she was nurturing it. Who knew how deep within her the roots reached now?

He had not meant to rouse such long hibernating sensations in her. He was just trying to be helpful by lifting her hair free of her coat's collar. She would never have thought that such slight, gentle, short-lived physical contact would have damaged her defences in the least, but her time-hardened, solid walls had torn back like rice paper under his touch. Light had flooded in, and something had stirred deep within her soul.

She had denied herself so much for so long now. She had abandoned all physical pleasure in an effort to sever any attractions she might have towards any man. She had refrained for her own sake, to keep as distanced from humanity as she could, to ensure that she was doing all in her power to prevent it from happening again. Perhaps her body had become desperate in her abstinence? She wouldn't deny that it had been hard, at some points it had been nigh on unbearable. What concerned her was that it had taken him so little to make her feel so much. Such a small action would never have elicited such a strong response from her before, but Sonny had made her go weak at the knees and her stomach still fluttered a little. Just from an accidental, innocent, inadvertent caress he had summoned strong, amorous instincts from her.

_Wait…Sonny is perfect? Sonny is cute? Sonny…is arousing?_

Those thoughts were not like her. Memories reared up and she found herself feeling vulnerable and frightened. Angry that still those memories held such power over her life and enraged at her own weakness she violently and forcefully hurled the offending ideas from her mind. He was still young. He would change. It was the nature of any consciousness with a drive for self-survival, and it wouldn't be long before his fears darkened him. Soon he would learn to feel the shadowed side of the coin, for just as light created darkness, love and happiness would inevitably lead to greed and envy, along with a host of other foul aspects of life. One day he would learn to hate and hurt, and she wouldn't be subjected to that again. She had promised herself to never allow it to happen again.


	6. Material Possession

**Disclaimer: Please note that I do not own the characters, concept or plot of the 'I, Robot' book or film**.

**Author's Note;** This was a hard one to write, but now we can look forwards to some really juicy bits!

Susan's car rolled towards the underground entrance to USR and once it came to a gradual halt she climbed out. As her vehicle was loaded into the car park she held the side of her curled hand to the blue print-sensor screen. There was a harsh, scraping, static screech from the panel, and Susan jumped back a little, startled by the unexpected sound. Of course, there was no V.I.K.I. The USR tower was now a mindless shell, devoid of anything resembling thought and unable to function properly. The tower was brain-dead.

She rapped at the semi-clouded glass doors with her knuckles and attracted the attention of a grey-green clothed security officer seated on a stainless steel stool. He smiled and nodded, acknowledging her presence before scurrying out of sight. He swiftly returned carrying what looked like an old clothes iron with an elongated handle, and she recognised it as a glazier's limpet. He came towards her and slapped the suction cup on the smooth, handle-less door and she heard the clicking as the diaphragm contracted, forming an extremely strong bond with the plain glass pane. He then dragged it across with what looked like considerable effort, the door opening with an unwilling rasping sound of grudging resistance.

"Morning Dr. Calvin." The security officer puffed.

She didn't know him, so she gave a generalised, non-descript, blunt reply. "Morning."

"Mr. Hine has moved his office to lab 347. He's expecting you."

Just how late was she? She never usually talked to the security staff, but she needed to know. "Do you have the time?"

"Yes, it's 9.20." He smiled and continued in a chatty, friendly manner. "The lifts aren't working so you'll have to take the stairs I'm afraid." He began forcing the door shut again.

She was about to leave for lab 347 when she realised she was being a little impolite. "Thank you…"

"Carl."

"Well, thank you Carl." She started running.

She was late already, but there was no use making it worse by dithering about. If it appeared that she had done all in her power to accommodate for her lateness, Mr. Hine was less likely to become irritated, and he would be more likely to listen to her. She was hoping for him to be in an open minded, friendly mood, as she was seriously considering telling him all about Sonny. She couldn't see any likely way that she could keep his existence totally secret for long, and as much as she appreciated his intellectually inquisitive company, Sonny couldn't remain imprisoned in her home permanently. He needed some degree of freedom. He was completely his own person, and she suspected that he would become irritable, frustrated or even unstable if caged. She wholly realised that it would be a while before he could know what it truly meant to be free, but if she could give him some kind of indication that his current situation wasn't everlasting it would make her feel happier. It would probably help him too, to have hope for a life of freedom.

She tore up the stairs at first, taking them at least two at a time with impressive strides, passing floors with leaps and bounds. However, she was an office worker. She was unused to prolonged bouts of physical exertion and was soon trudging up the steps one at a time, her calves burning, out of breath, exhausted and dizzy. Adrenaline was not on her side this time, and she thought it would be a while before her adrenal glands wanted to have anything to do with her after the V.I.K.I. incident. Her arm repeatedly reached out, grasped the banister and hauled her up to keep herself moving. Finally, she reached her target floor and she stood bent over, hands on her knees, struggling to breathe. She calmly waited for her heart to slow down and patiently lay in wait, ready to catch her breath at the soonest opportunity. She hadn't had an athsmatic attack since childhood and she didn't want the symptoms to re-present themselves, but the lessons in breath regulation and pulse calming that she had learnt as a result were proving useful now.

If only she could get Mr. Hine to understand Sonny, get him to realise that he wasn't just some pile of USR owned components that could be thoughtlessly dismantled. Sonny could never be decommissioned, he was too…alive. It would be like putting someone to death, or even like murder. She hadn't been able to do it. He didn't want to die, and he'd told her so in the diagnostic. When Robertson told her to destroy him, she had begun to realise that it wouldn't be like decommissioning a faulty NS-5. It was the destruction of a life. It was death…it was murder. She was no angel, she had done her fair share of unsavoury deeds for the organisation, but she would not kill for anyone.

She was regaining a steady, regular pattern to her heart and lungs. Feeling a bit better, she straightened herself out and walked from the stairwell into the corridors of USR.

The lab Mr. Hine had taken up as his new office had two more greyish-green clad security personnel stood either side of the door, and both of them gave her strange looks as she approached. She knew she looked stupid wearing her hair down with her work clothes, and her face was probably more than a little flushed from climbing the stairs, but that was no excuse nor invitation to stare. Annoyed by the unwanted attention, she regained her usual stance. It was also partly in defiance of the unease their scrutiny was causing her, not that she would ever let anyone know it was so. She pulled herself up to her full height and took on an air of indomitable importance, assuming the routine, quietly arrogant demeanour that she wore to work like her uniform. They stopped looking as she strode towards them emitting intimidating quantities of confidence and purpose with an almost military edge. She halted in front of the suction-cup decked steel double doors and shot both guards glares that were hard as steel and although didn't last long, were fully loaded with her trademark, imposing superiority and loftiness.

She could swear they had stood up taller and straighter in her presence, and they paused nervously before her between the deathly gazes she flung at them and their drawing the doors open. She stepped through with a small smirk that showed slightly on her lips and eyebrows. She did get a kick out of causing her fellow humans so much discomfort without so much as a word or blow. She was only human after all, and she felt it was permissible to enjoy the odd power trip seems as her array of sources for personal amusement was so rigorously self-limited. Hell, at least she was happy to see other humans for once, as that was a rare event. She was uncommonly glad to be back in the company of others of her species. Even if it was for unusual reasons and expressed in a unique way.

"Good morning Dr. Calvin." Mr. Hine cradled his cocooned right arm to his chest and she met his gaze. His tired, old, dark eyes were lustreless and dull, not full of strength and life as they normally were. Dark bags of fatigue and anxiety hung weakly under them and his age looked more apparent now than ever. He was a slouched and slumped over the table before him and his back was hunched forwards in ignorance of the high back of his orthopaedic chair. He looked tired, but he didn't look furious, so there was hope yet. A pair of less stately chairs were also drawn near the table, positioned opposite him.

"Good morning Sir." She descended the few steps and approached the makeshift desk. It was stacked with piles of folders and papers, but arranged in an orderly fashion with space set aside for stationary and an area to work with. She had changed her manner from one for intimidation to a more easygoing, cheerful-yet-reserved one that she saved only for her superiors. "I apologise for my inadequate punctuality."

"It's fine. Your accomplice hasn't arrived yet either, and I'm not fond of repeating myself. Feel free to take a seat." His usual deep, proud voice was also gone, withered away to a frail wraith-like version of its former respectable, impressive self. He even sounded old and feeble.

Then again, he was not young and she could appreciate that his job was not an easy one and the stress of it would not have put him in great stead for the attack. If his painkiller-numbed but evidently uncomfortable right arm was anything to go by, he looked to have had a slight disagreement with his own NS-5. She took off her long coat and folded it in her lap as she sat. She was far too warm after climbing so many steps on the way to the converted lab.

Mr. Hine guessed the method behind her actions, and his face lit up a little. "I thought a young one like yourself would have thought nothing of a few sets of stairs."

She shook her head with a light smile. He was clearly unwell, tested by extreme physical and indeed, probably considerable mental exertion. "Too used to the life of convenience."

"Yes, we have become far too dependent on automation. This building isn't particularly practical without elevators, everything is vertical. That's why my office is now here. I don't think I could have got up to my usual floor, the climb would have been unbearable." He had seemed to attempt to be cheerful and chatty, but his face drooped sadly again. "That and this lab is now unoccupied."

Susan wondered how the other USR employees had faired. Each would have been high on the roll out lists and would have all had an NS-5 in their homes by the time of the attack. She wondered if she had been uncommonly fortunate, and how many remained on the USR pay roll. "Who's lab was this?" She spoke with a respectable level of concern, trying her best to appear neither crazed with worry nor uncaring.

"Dr. Waiehru." Mr. Hine sat back in his fancy black chair. "When she realised what was going on, she took her 22 calibre to her skull. Her NS-5 never laid a finger on her."

Susan was astonished, it was an oddly passionate and romantically macabre course of action for a USR employee. "That's terrible. What department was she?"

"NS-5 Optics Design and Development."

"I see. Have many of our colleagues suffered similar fates?"

"Actually, most USR employees are fine. I suppose that working on the NS-5 made them wiser about challenging aggressive robots. Without a gun, what damage could a human hope to deal an NS-5? We built them to last."

She paused, thinking. All night shift staff had been evacuated when the fire alarm sounded. Except for Robertson. She was sure that Mr. Hine had requested this meeting to converse on the subject of the security records, and he would surely have viewed them himself. She was curious as to what exactly the fate of USR's former CEO was, as he had already been dead when she, Sonny and Spooner found him. "What happened to Mr. Robertson?"

Mr. Hine drew his chair in closer to the table and leant over his desk, shortening the distance between them. Taking the hint that he didn't want to say what was on his mind louder than was absolutely necessary, she sat forwards over her folded coat in an action that she hoped would make her concern evident.

"Lawrence was a very good friend of mine, I am sure that you know that. I am unhappy at the prospect of shrouding his death in mystery, and I was devastated when I watched what remained of the security files in V.I.K.I.'s over-spill hard drives. Seems as you already know so much, and I have confidence in your loyalty to USR, I shall tell you."

Susan nodded in confirmation of her position in regards to the company.

He spoke quietly but punctuated his sentences with emphatic gestures with his good hand. "It was brutal. There is no other way to describe it. V.I.K.I.'s holographic face appeared in his office and demanded that he step away from his computer and leave the building. When he asked her why, she just repeated the command. I think he sensed that she was behaving aggressively, even though she said it in her usual, passive way of speaking. It was eerie, hearing those threats in such a calm, collected tone. It was positively psychopathic, it was chilling, right to the bone. He refused, ordering her to recall the Three Laws. When she didn't instantly obey, and as she began explaining her new logic to him, he knew how dangerous she had become. He went to lock out the uplink, disable it completely, knowing that V.I.K.I. would use the NS-5's as sacrificial appendages to extend her reach beyond the walls of USR."

Mr. Hine still carried his stern face, but even Susan with her below-average facial-expression interpretation skills could recognise he was distressed by recounting the events. "The doors to his office opened, the pair of NS-5's which had been standing guard outside his office stood blocking the doorway, their uplink-active indicators glowing red. Lawrence didn't make it to his computer. He was unarmed, but V.I.K.I. made the decision that he'd had his chance. She just watched as the two NS-5's advanced on him. There was nothing the poor man could do." This was obviously difficult for Mr. Hine. "I myself have not managed to actually watch the footage through myself, I felt that I would vomit if I watched it to the end. Hearing the audio was bad enough. He eventually died of a broken neck."

Susan reached out and shook his hand. To most humans, it would have seemed a bizarre act of comfort, but USR employees were not normal people. They existed in a world of regulations and reservations, handshakes being pretty much the upper limit of physical contact deemed socially acceptable amongst staff, especially amongst the higher ranking, further qualified and most eccentric doctors, researchers and executives. It was a different world from the streets below. Oddly detached from humanity, the lifestyle seemed to not only create robots out of the latest components and materials, but out of the people too.

"No one should ever have to endure that, and nobody should ever have to hear a very good friend's neck being snapped." Mr. Hine was impossibly more pale-faced now than he had been.

"Are you sure that you are up to this Sir?" She was taken back by his behaviour. It was unusually informal.

"Yes, yes, I'm quite all right." He gave a flash of a fake smile and checked his watch. "Detective Spooner is very late. I'm beginning to think he won't show."

"I'm sure that he will, he wrecked his car and his motorcycle recently so he's probably having to navigate the public transport network."

Mr. Hine chuckled emptily. "God help him. I hope he doesn't expect the timetables to be correct with current damage to tracks and route diversions."

She smiled, but she could feel the conversation beginning to stagnate. Humans really were not her forte.

Fortunately at that point the metal doors ground open. "Hey there. Sorry I'm late. Figured I had plenty of time but I got into an argument with a cab driver. You wouldn't believe the money they're charging! Talk about community spirit, thieving buggers, it cost me $225 just to get here!" Detective Spooner was wearing his usual dark attire, hat still on at an angle, only covering the top of one ear. Susan was beginning to think that it was some sort of purposeful fashion statement rather than an unfortunate accident as she had suspected. It made him look quite idiotic in her opinion, all lop-sided. It reminded her of someone or something, but she couldn't quite place her finger on who or what.

The right arm of his long, dark leather jacket hung limp and empty, and inside his coat Susan could see the fresh, clinical, hospital-white cast holding the broken bones of his right arm. He had a white plastic bag in his cybernetic hand, grasped by the neck with the loop-shaped handles sticking up from his fist like rabbit ears. Whatever was it contained had transferred a sticky residue onto the plastic, and looked a sickening shade of orange. Complete with lumps.

"Good morning Detective." Mr. Hine offered politely. "I shall see that your travel expenses are compensated for."

Spooner gave an odd grin. "Well that's very nice of you. Seems as you are a much nicer guy in person than on the phone, I feel sorry for pissing you off so much last night." He slumped into the spare chair. "Hey! Snap! You busted your right arm too. C'mon, what ya broken?"

It was an oddly personal question to ask a Board of Chief Executive's Committee's Head, especially on the first meeting and especially of such a massive company as USR, but that was Spooner in a nutshell. Odd and especially lacking in reserve. Still, Mr. Hine seemed patient today despite injuries, stress and fatigue, and he replied to the informal query. "I have had both the bones in my forearm broken and several bones in my wrist and hand have been shattered."

"You beat me hands down." Spooner smiled at his small quip. "Would you mind if I ate my breakfast? The cab driver wouldn't let me eat in his car, and I think it'll be beyond the point of 'still edible' if I leave it much longer. It got a bit squashed when I had to force my way through the crowds of reporters outside and all."

Mr. Hine looked surprised by Spooner's behaviour, and just shrugged, probably for lack of knowing what else to do. "I don't see why not." He shook his head. "I have great dislike for reporters. They are like vultures. They prey on the weak and misfortunate, gathering in squabbling flocks, squawking for scraps."

Spooner proceeded to clumsily open up the white bag with one hand and pulled a large pie to the surface. A whole pie, still in the blue dish it was cooked in. He settled it on his lap and delved into his pocket to produce a spoon, which he clumsily dug into the centre of the pie and used to scoop up a large hunk of filling. As he mulled over the mouthful of pie, Susan shook her head and looked away disapprovingly. He just didn't seem to know how to show respect for anyone. Mr. Hine however, seemed startled.

"Before you ask Sir, this is normal behaviour. For him at least. It does take a while to get used to." She offered as a combination of an apology and explanation for Spooner's peculiar behaviour.

"I see…"

"Sorry, did you want some?" Spooner held the pie dish out towards Mr. Hine. Sometimes Spooner was plain cringeful.

"…No thank you." Mr. Hine recoiled a little.

Spooner did what could only be described as the facial version of a shrug and continued with his odd breakfast.

"Now, I have viewed the security footage from the night of the NS-5 attacks, and I know that you two were crucial to the events which unfolded here on that night. First off, I would like to thank you on behalf of USR for your courage, bravery and determination, and commend you on your valour, quickness of mind and skill. Who knows what would have happened were it not for you two."

"Three." Spooner butted in through his current mouthful of pie. He swallowed. "Three of us."

"Ah yes, you mean that NS-5. I was coming to that. To whom does he belong?"

"Nobody." The detective said abruptly.

Susan was interested in where this would go. It was progressing down a line that could be stacked highly in Sonny's favour and so far she hadn't needed to help things along at all. Again, Spooner's stubbornness was coming in useful, albeit in an unexpected way. She had been dubious about the detective's opinions on Sonny, and wondered how he now regarded the robot. It seemed that he now truly thought of him as a definite 'someone' rather than a 'something', and he probably shared her view of Sonny deserving the right to freedom. She kept quiet, watching and listening, ready to join the conversation should it need redirecting.

"What do you mean, 'nobody'?"

"He doesn't belong to anybody."

"Technically, that is impossible. Nestor Class robots belong to USR, we lease them out to members of the general public and various businesses and companies. Ownership of any Nestor Class robot, or any other USR model for that matter remains with USR at all times. They remain USR property, although the robot in question 'belongs' to its lease-holder. Should anything happen to the person or group who paid for the lease, for example in the event of death or liquidation, a will or other legally binding contract or agreement is needed to pass 'possession' to a new party. If not there is no contract, the robot is returned to USR for assessment and probable re-leasing. An NS-5 cannot become homeless."

"He is not 'property' to be owned." Spooner dropped his utensil back into the bowl in annoyance.

Mr. Hine was loosing his patience. "Who bought it? Who paid for it? Who is its legal primary master?"

It wouldn't do her cause any good to have Mr. Hine become irrational with Spooner-induced fury, so Susan decided it was time to get involved. "He was Dr. Lanning's '5." She would have plenty of time in the future to convince Mr. Hine that Sonny was no object.

Mr. Hine sat for a moment without saying a word. "I see. I suppose that probably explains a fair bit."

"I will tell you all about that particular '5, but now is not the time. As you were saying?"

"…Oh yes. Well, who knows what would have happened if it were not for your efforts. However, If the public were to know what really happened, society as we know it would collapse. I'm sure that you have seen the news and are aware of what we have told the media, but we had little choice.

We really have become so dependent on the life of convenience that we couldn't do much else. We have come to rely on robots filling in the lower-paid, lower skilled jobs to allow more people to pursue higher education and give them the opportunity for better, more rewarding jobs. Robots lower the unemployment rates and boost the economy nation-wide. Domestic assistant robots alleviate pressures on home life and give people more time to relax and enjoy themselves. They have helped reduce divorce and domestic violence across the country. Their presence reduces crime and accidental deaths, and there have been no casualties of fires in the home for years thanks to robots. I don't understand how anyone could think that America would be better off without them.

If we revealed that the Three Laws could ever falter, we would loose the public's faith in robotics. Can you imagine the chaos that would ensue? Just take a look around yourself on the streets at the moment. This is Chicago and Los Angeles is far worse, but most cities across the continent are badly damaged and barely running. If we don't get the robots back out there repairing the damage, America will fall. There are no 'if's or 'but's about it. We need to get the robots back out into society as soon as we possibly can. It's a matter of social and economic collapse! Do you understand?"

"Yes." Susan answered, but Spooner still looked dubious.

"People lived without robots at the beginning of the millennium. Why can't we go back to that?" Spooner was obsessed with 21st century life.

"Times have changed since then. Can you imagine what people of that time would have said if they were asked to live without cars, computers, washing machines or even electricity? People like convenience, and they are loath to give it up. Humanity walks forwards quite happily enough, but backwards is a direction that summons massive stubbornness. America cannot go back to the beginning of this millennia, it is impossible."

Spooner looked away thoughtfully, obviously irritated by what Mr. Hine said but he understood it to be the truth. Humans were constantly seeking ways to make their lives easier, they were creatures that craved convenience by nature.

"Putting that aside, the lawsuits are already starting to come in and we have to come up with employee life-insurance pay outs for some unfortunate families. If we don't put our robots back into their places, we'll also have to compensate for the personal losses of expensive pieces of domestic machinery. Dr. Calvin, you know the cost of leasing an NS-5, and how many we have in storage. Multiply those and it amounts to a massive sum. USR is a gigantic corporation, but this event has already badly wounded our finances, and the effects will be long lasting. I suspect there will be further financial repercussions in the future."

"Are there any estimates as yet of the final figure?" She asked. USR might stagger on a while longer, but there was a high risk of the company eventually going under if its finances were truly crippled.

"Lots of estimates. It all depends on how the public takes this. Some estimates are hopeful…others gravely unpromising."

"How terrible."

Mr. Hine now addressed both of them. "Yes. This is why on behalf of USR, I am asking for your co-operation. I am going to have to ask you both to sign contracts pledging your silence over the events of that night."

"I still think you could have come up with something more original than terrorism." Spooner commented.

"It was the best we could come up with in such a short time." Mr. Hine explained. "We had less than twenty four hours to analyse all the facts and recordings, comprehend the truth and begin patching together a plausible cover-up."

"How are you going to ensure the robots won't do it again? I mean, now that you have put the idea into the minds of every member of all the terrorist groups world wide."

"We are going to remove the uplink receiver nodule from all the NS-5's. It will cut the up link's range down to less than 7 meters, and new programs will only be available from fixed, guarded download stations. That way if any terrorists decided that it would be a good idea, any NS-5's they took control of would have to be within and remain within a perimeter 7m from the download beacon, which would keep them within the walls of the station."

"Good idea." Spooner decided it lived up to his paranoid expectations. "So long as these stations have lock-down capabilities which no robot could break free from. Oh, there should be no guns or other projectiles within 7m of the beacon, or else it would be pointless."

"Of course. Anything else?" Mr. Hine looked genuinely interested in Spooner's contributions.

"I'll let you know when I think of 'em."

"What about you Susan, any thoughts?"

"Who are the terrorists and hackers which you are pinning this on?" This question had been nagging at her mind since yesterday morning and she was intrigued as to what group would be blamed.

"We are going to claim no knowledge of what group in particular is responsible. Sometime, probably far sooner than later, several groups will try to 'take credit' for the catastrophe. They will do that job for us."

She nodded to herself. It was a fairly good plan. At least no singled-out group was being pinned with the incident and growing resentful and thirsty for revenge for it.

"So, would you like me to run through your contracts with you?" Mr. Hine reached into a folder on his desk and pulled out several sheets of paper collected together in three booklets. "Feel free to stop me at any point to discuss any angle and ask any questions."

Spooner nodded and set his half eaten pie on the floor beside his chair, wiping his hand on his trousers before leaning forwards, straining to take the booklet offered in his direction. Susan was distinctly more courteous and rose from her seat to collect her copy before setting herself smoothly back on her chair. Mr. Hine gathered his reading glasses and begun. He read the contract aloud and Susan and Spooner read along.

It was long-winded but fairly basic. It outlined the true sequence of events, including Dr. Lanning's death, Robertson's death, V.I.K.I., a little on a 'significantly modified NS-5' and such information as the new version of the night and terms and conditions. She skimmed it over, looking for anything that she strongly disagreed with, but she had already made up her mind on this contract. She loved her work far too much not to sign it.

She hadn't had any breakfast yet, and her stomach wasn't happy about it. It bubbled and writhed unpleasantly in her body and it was getting quite uncomfortable now. She felt pale and cold with hunger and it was beginning to effect her concentration. When had she last eaten? Yesterday afternoon? She had never been late for USR before, and hadn't missed her morning meal since…the last time must have been back at Grad School. It was starting to feel as if her stomach was digesting her innards and gnawing at her spine. It was very painful, she felt sick and was getting nasty prickly chills on her back. She wasn't paying any attention to the contract or Mr. Hine anymore, all her focus was dedicated to trying not to feel faint.

She was sitting still, looking at the paper in her hands but not really seeing it when she caught a faint whiff of something. It smelled sweet and delicious. It was Spooner's Goddamn pie! The faint odour of food was enough to catch her stomach's attention and it clenched aggressively, screaming out for the revolting-looking, half-eaten, orange pie. Since she did not take that as instruction to immediately grab the pie and eat it, her stomach decided to punish her by unleashing an easily audible, deep rumble. Well, it started off as a rumble but quickly became a full-fledged growl, and then a roar.

Mr. Hine continued, ignoring the loud growl she had accidentally emitted as any professional, mature, USR employee would, but Spooner dropped his contact away and gawked at her. She could feel colour rising in her cheeks, and she hoped that it would go no further than a little pink. Today was just not her day…

"_That_ was impressive!" Spooner interrupted Mr. Hine and gave her a lop-sided, nodding grin.

Great. How immature and embarrassing. It was bad enough that she had no control over herself today, but it was far worse having Spooner around to draw additional, unnecessary attention to it. She hoped in vain that the floor would open up and swallow her whole, and she cursed getting out of bed today. She also prayed that Spooner wouldn't take this as an invitation for bodily-function humour. He was just the kind of person she would picture finding that type of humour hilarious.

"Miss breakfast?" He said.

She scowled in defence of the unwanted attention. "Yes." She hissed with menacing defensiveness.

Evidently not perturbed in the least by her threatening looks, he reached down and grabbed his pie. "Want some?" He offered the orange pastry dish out to her. "It's sweet potato, and it's all right, my Gran cooked it, not me."

She eyed the sweet potato pie dubiously. It was a shade that didn't really call out to be eaten, and although it smelled good it didn't look it. She had never eaten sweet potato pie before, and she felt wary of it, and of eating under such close confines with other humans. Eating was a function she kept to herself, or at a push she would do it in the company of robots. She cast questioning, cautious glances at Spooner and Mr. Hine before accepting the partially consumed dish. Mr. Hine continued talking, and Spooner turned his attention back to his contract, leaving Susan to her newly acquired breakfast.

It didn't look _that_ bad up close, and it sure smelled interesting. She took hold of the spoon and drove it into the orange mush. It certainly was…gooey, for lack of any other better words to describe it. Gooey, yet also strangely stringy…and a little grainy she discovered under closer inspection. She emptied the spoon and encouraged a tiny tester sized nibble onto the end of it and prepared to give it a go. She very nearly did until she remembered that the particular utensil had been in Spooner's mouth. Shuddering but not wanting to look a fool by dropping away the already raised spoon, she opened her mouth and took the glob of filling off the spoon without actually touching the metal.

It was gooey and smooth and stringy and grainy and a collection of other seemingly non-complimentary textures, but it wasn't bad. Not at all. It wasn't mind-blowingly delicious, but it wasn't without its own unique and individual charm. She swallowed and her stomach begun to settle. She settled the dish on the folded coat in her lap and steadied it with her spoon-hand whilst her other lifted the contract into her view and she caught up with Mr. Hine. Before she put any thought into her next helping, her hand was ready and waiting with a second, larger spoonful.

"Agent Spooner!?" He exclaimed and followed it with a long whistle. "You want me to come work for you guys?"

"Only in part. It would have only a small effect on your current job situation, save the pay rise and such." Mr. Hine waved his hand as if the monetary aspects of Spooner's contact were insignificant. "We are anticipating a large amount of crime against USR employees and property in the immediate future. The general public will be prone to bouts of aggressive paranoia and robophobic actions, and seems as you have been drawn to us by recent events, we thought it would be convenient and appropriate to offer you a job with us."

"What sorta stuff you got in mind? I'm a trained homicide detective. I wouldn't know what to do with myself."

"If you feel a lack of confidence in some areas we can always pay for you to receive extra training."

"What's the going pay for a USR agent anyway?"

Mr. Hine looked at him slyly. "What would you deem a fair price?"

Spooner looked at Susan in disbelief at his fortune. "You hearing this!?"

Susan cannily held her contract in such a position that it would block his view of the now almost empty dish in her lap. It had been damn good pie. "Yes I'm hearing this."

"C'mon, what did you get?" He looked like an over excited child on Christmas morning.

She shook her head in light hearted sign of mock-disapproval. "I've been offered a place on the Board of Executives."

"How much does the pay packet for that job weigh?"

"A fair bit more than my current one." She sighed wistfully. Money wasn't necessary to sway her. She had decided that already. She was loyal to USR, probably stupidly so.

"Mr. Spooner, how does, say," Mr. Hine shrugged and looked thoughtful "$100,000 per year pre tax sound to you as a starter? Of course, there will be plenty of room for pay rises should you take to the job well."

Spooner's jaw would have hit the floor if only it could.

"I also hear that your car and motorcycle have been written-off. Do you have insurance?"

"Yeah, well, I did on the car but my bike was…slightly illegal. I had no insurance for it, getting full insurance for a fossil-fuelled bike is like trying to get blood from stone!"

"We shall see what we can do about that. How about you Dr. Calvin, how do you feel about your set of proposals?"

She looked down at the final page of her contract. She was being offered full compensation for personal injury and damage of possessions, and was being offered a highly paid job at the top end of one of the most influential organisations in the world.

But it was not what she wanted. She was already insured for the damages that had befallen her couch and she herself did not feel so bitter about her injuries to want to claim monetary solace. She owned her apartment, she had a comfortable cushion of cash in her bank account and there was nothing she wanted to buy that she couldn't afford or she hadn't already bought. The job she was being offered only held the wage advantage over her current position, and since money was not something she was overly concerned about, she could find no reason to take up the offer. She liked her present job, she found it rewarding. The minds of robots were truly intriguing, far more stimulating than a stuffy, stressful executive desk job where she would invariably be forced to become involved with other people's petty concerns. Robopsychology was her life's true calling.

"I'm afraid I shall have to decline your offers. My present insurance policy covers all my damages and I am not terribly interested in an executive position, regardless of the financial benefits."

Mr. Hine looked nervous. "…You have something else in mind, don't you? Something specific?" He was expecting a tall order.

"Not quite. I will not issue you with demands. I have no intention of bribing or blackmailing you or USR." _Or hit anyone with sticks_, she thought to herself and a twitch at the corner of her lips betrayed the smile she was suppressing. She lifted a pen from the corner of Mr. Hine's desk and held it barely millimetres from the dotted line at the bottom of the last page. Her intent focus leapt from the 'Sign Here' line to snare eye contact with Mr. Hine. "I merely ask one favour of you."

"What might that be?" He asked uneasily, unable to break her dark-eyed gaze but definitely suspicious of her intent. She could see it in his old, green eyes that she made him uncomfortable, but he had a look of anticipation about him. No doubt due to the proximity of her signature from the contract.

"To keep an open mind over the next few days."

She saw puzzled relief sweep over him. "I would have thought _that_ would have gone without saying."

She smiled a wry smile, and her hand moved in a quick, controlled flurry of pen strokes.

'_Dr. Susan Calvin_'

With a smug smirk drawn across her nervousness, she placed the contract back on Mr. Hine's desk along with the pen.

"Well, it's settled then." Mr. Hine shook Spooner's hand gleefully, but he regarded Susan with dubious intrigue as they exchanged the briefest of firm handshakes. "Obviously it will be a while before we can get all the balls rolling again and set the gears back in motion, but the clock is ticking. USR will get back to you as soon as possible on your new employment arrangements, Mr. Spooner. Dr. Susan, we are going to have to request that you are here regularly over the next few weeks. We need to ascertain the damage V.I.K.I. might have caused to some of the NS-5's Law's. We are particularly anxious to examine the First Law responses of those NS-5's which killed. They may be safe…but they also may not be."

"Yes Sir."

She and Spooner rose to leave. "I'm intending to stay here today to review the damages done to my department. If you need me, I shan't be far from my office. It has been nice seeing you." She said politely.

"Oh yes, I know that both of you were friends of Dr. Lanning, and his funeral is still scheduled for tomorrow."

She was equally surprised as Spooner, but it was he who spoke the thoughts on their minds. "I thought you'd have moved it after the attack. Y'know, postpone it, set it back a few days."

"Yes, that is what the media is expecting so we aren't going to. Lanning was a private man, I doubt he would appreciate a massively publicised burial."

"Yeah. True I suppose. Well I will be there."

"Mr. Spooner…" Mr Hine took a chequebook from his piles of paperwork and scribbled a signature and a few figures on it. "That should cover your travel expenses for a short while." He tore it from the book and held it between two fingers at the end of an outstretched arm.

Spooner took the cheque and looked at it. He crammed it in his pocket and then pointed and grinned with mock accusation at Mr. Hine. "You have more money than sense."

Mr. Hine just smiled.

"Good day Sir." Susan turned to walk towards the door and Spooner absent-mindedly followed.

"Yeah, Bye. Thanks 'n' all." Spooner called over his shoulder.

Mr. Hine rose his good hand in farewell. "Before you go, I'd like to give my deepest gratitude to you for treating Lawrence's body with such respect afterwards. It really means allot to me."

Susan had reached the top of the tiny set of steps and she looked back down the lab at Mr. Hine. She was internally debating weather she should say anything, and trying to decide what she should say if she did.

Spooner was not yet at the stairs and he casually turned to and said "Don't thank us, that was Sonny's idea."

"Sonny?"

"Lanning's 'significantly modified NS-5'." Susan added, barely able to contain herself. She smiled again and left. Before she turned though, she did see the look of ponderous surprise on Mr. Hine's face.

Spooner followed her down the corridor. She was carrying his white bag containing the empty pie dish in apology for eating a good portion of it. That and she was less wounded than he was after all, but she could only carry it for him as far as the stairs before they would have to go their separate ways. She had a fair climb to go to reach her lab and office.

She swung the bag a little and her pace was quick and light. The meeting had gone decisively well. As well as she could have possibly hoped. She could very nearly have danced with glee at leaving Mr. Hine to ponder upon that final concept, the concept of the NS-5 having free will, compassion and a name. Not that she would ever be seen dancing. She had not been in such a lenient mood after spending such a length of time confined in the presence of two other humans for a great many months. It was even more shocking when the fact that one of the humans was Spooner was entered into the equation. Regardless, her little campaign for Sonny's freedom had begun well and she felt proud and accomplished. She could almost hum a merry tune to herself…almost.

"You know, in a few months when all this settles down, I am going to go on the mother of all shopping spree's." Spooner said, pleased with the prospect of a greatly increased income. "I'm going to buy so many shoes you could kit out the entire US army!"

"I think you mean 'camp up' not 'kit out'." She grinned a little. She really was _that_ happy with herself. She was prepared to not only talk to Spooner like an equal, but poke a little harmless fun at him, without provoked malice.

He put on a flat, girly voice and imitated one of the short sentences she had spoken to him a couple of times before. "Are you being funny?" He laughed.

She giggled, or at least the closest to it that Susan Calvin could come. It was a soundless attempt, more of a facial expression than an audible utterance of amusement. "Merely temporary insanity brought on by stress and sleep depravation, I assure you." She paused with more inward directed giggling. "I could probably put an axe though the back of your head and get away with it in court at the moment."

Spooner looked at her with uncertainty. "I'm finding it a bit difficult to tell whether that's a friendly joke or a homicidal threat."

She shook her head. "Don't be a prat Spooner, of course I was joking. You see any axes around? Anyway, I think I'll go to my office for a bit, see how much of it is intact." She handed him his pie-bag. "Oh, and if you haven't got anything else to do today, could you pop round my apartment and check that Sonny is okay? You might have to shout who you are through the door to get him to open it though." She waved and begun another arduous climb up the towering staircase. "Bye."


	7. What Became of Mr C Randow

**Disclaimer: Please note that I do not own the characters, concept or plot of the 'I, Robot' book or film**.

**Author's Note:** WARNING! THIS CHAPTER IS RATED 15 FOR; bad language, sexual references, references to deviant sexual behaviour, violence and to lesbianism. Don't like? Then don't read. Really, it's _that_ simple and you have been warned. Flaming squikkers will be ignored or laughed at. To all you nice, rational, normal people; This chapter is the original chapter 7, although it was written after the current chapter 8. Enjoy!

Charles Randow and Andrew Dayson were relieved of their stations either side of Mr. Hine's temporary office at the end of that morning's shift for their lunch break at 11:30 am. It was now Mike and Eddie's turn to silently imitate statues in that boring, featureless corridor for a few hours.

Charles had dark brown hair and eyes and was a tall, stretched out character with long, 'monkey-man' arms and a prominent adam's apple. Andrew on the other hand had pale blonde hair, freakishly pale grey eyes and was very short. He had a bit of a 'short-guy' complex and he had a big, volatile, super-concentrated ego to make up for his shortcomings in the height department and he was quite brazen and aggressive, and a bit in-your-face at times but very amusing to work with. There was never a dull day on shift with the little guy, which was hard to imagine when guards spent most of their working days wordlessly standing around.

Charles quietly made his way through the building with Andrew following behind. Normally they would have gone to the staff canteen for lunch, but it wasn't open today. There weren't enough people at USR today to warrant getting the catering staff in and firing up the industrial-sized kitchen appliances so him and his good buddy Andy got hot-dogs from the temporary vending cart parked outside instead. With two dogs each, both slathered in mustard and ketchup, they went back into the great building and sat in the staff rest area to eat.

Andy was blathering on about some recent female conquest of his all the way and Charles only paid the most scathing and bare minimum of attention, inserting "yeah"'s, "nah"'s and the odd "sweet" in to fake interest. Andy was always going on about some chick and it made interesting conversation at times, but he wasn't in the mood to listen today. When he had first started working with the little bloke he had thought of him as a belligerent, chauvinist, womanising bastard, but the more he got to know Andy, he realised he wasn't that bad. Most of the terribly base comments he made were only said to provoke reactions. He seemed to get a kick out of eliciting uncharacteristic outbursts from other people. It had caused some interesting chains of events over the years, but Charles had grown used to the guy's ways and he had learned to take pretty much everything he said with more than just a pinch of salt. He'd grown very fond of the provoking pygmy and the two of them became good, solid friends.

Mattie, Philly-o and Paul, short for Pauline although 'short' couldn't really be applied to any aspect of that gal except her fuse, were all sat in the security staff-room with a few hot-dogs each. Charles gave them all a quick collective greeting with a nonchalant wave of one large hand on a long, lanky arm and a "hey all" before finding a seat. He sat on one of the scabby, tattered, beige, plastic chairs and tucked into his hot dog. He loved mustard, but he must have been a little over zealous in his hunger as his nasal cavity now felt as if a moderate bonfire had been ignited there. He swallowed it down quickly and looked across at Andy, who was casually chewing a mouthful and staring into space with a smirk on his lips. "What you thinking about, or dare I not ask?" Charles asked slyly.

Andy gulped down his food, grinning and nodding his head a little. "That sexy little silver she-devil, Dr. Calvin. Never given her much of a second glance before, but hair down? _Woof_." He said gruffly and took another bite.

Charles rolled his eyes. "You are such a slut. I swear you'd have a go at anything if it had a couple of tits slapped on it."

Andy must have been paying attention, which was rare when food was about. "Hey, come on beanpole, as if you wouldn't?"

"Please no Andy, that woman is queer as hell."

"Pfft, I wasn't talking about that! She's an odd one, but got a fine ass with it. Admit it, you would, wouldn't you?"

"No actually, I wouldn't."

"Nice ass…long legs…slim waist…her face 'aint really that bad either. What's not to like?" Andy shrugged and went to take another bite of his 'dog.

"You know full well that woman makes my skin crawl." He drew his shoulders up to block a shiver and took an aggressive chunk out of his own lunch.

Andy dropped his food away from his mouth and gave him a distasteful look. "Aww, Charlzie man, your not still bangin' on about bloody Benny 'bot, are you?"

"It wasn't _Benny_, it was called Lenny."

"Yeah, whatever man, whatever. It got axed ages ago though, didn't it? Why's it still bothering you?"

"Oh, I don't know."

Ever since that incident with Lenny, Charles had been distrustful of robots and now he had been proven correct in his assertion that robots were dangerous. Nobody would argue now, after the NS-5 attacks. He had been as surprised as anyone else when the new Nestors flipped, but he had told them so, lots of times. He would often tell people that 'robots were dangerous things', and people had dismissed him as a paranoid robophobe and a 'Simple-Lifer'. He wasn't at all, he just didn't trust the machines like he used to. Having your arm broken by a seven-foot plus, unsafe, insane robot did that to you.

He still felt bitter about that particular robot and the events surrounding it. He had been a Computer Technician once and he had enjoyed a more comfortable life, but he was easily persuaded and his curiosity and his colleagues had got the better of him. He had swiped a keycard to get access to Dr. Calvin's laboratory to investigate the rumours. It was known that the prototype of the LNE model, LNE-1, was being kept in her lab, but there were rumours that Dr. Calvin was teaching it to speak like a musical instrument.

Naturally, him and his work mates had been curious. Why teach an LNE to speak musically? The LNE model was a large, metallic, industrial robot designed for the mining and production of boron hydrides in the asteroid belt that lies between Mars and Jupiter, marking the boundary between the inner and outer planets. It was a 2.2 meter tall off-world mining machine, what possible benefits could chatting like a cello bring? It had dark, red, spectroscopic eyes so that it could detect concentrated seams of boron and extremely dextrous arms and fingers to operate other, simpler machines and pieces of equipment to extract the ore and process it into the finished product ready for transport. There was no logical reason to give it a singsong voice.

There had even been money bet on whether the rumours were true or not, some of them quite substantial on the grounds of one of his old friend's assertion that Dr. Calvin 'could teach a _gatepost_ to talk'. Naturally, he had been put up to the task of finding out and settling the bets. Well, that wasn't strictly true, his best mate had drawn the short straw and lost the lottery, but Roger always had been a scaredy-cat and Charles had offered to go for him. He had always been like that, it had got him into trouble allot at school. He was just stupid enough to do what other people told him to and usually got caught doing it. He was always caught red-handed with other people's plans. He wasn't a grass though, and he got used to taking the rap for other people. It earned him an odd kind of respect and gained him many friends and allies, which balanced out the fact he was always getting into trouble.

He had snook into the odd woman's lab and found the LNE sat on the floor, thumb in its mouth, whirring away to itself. It had freaked him out then, in the dark of that neurotic doctor's private quarters, but he had to find out if it talked or not. He had addressed the machine, but it didn't even acknowledge his presence. He had repeated his remark, more forcefully but still it sat and hummed quietly to itself. Then he had grown less nervous of the LNE and had stepped closer, walking right up to the massive machine's side. He had asked it many questions, even given it orders but it didn't respond or obey. He began to get irritated. It wouldn't answer or even look at him! It was ignoring him, completely blanking him out. He needed to see if the thing talked or not, he couldn't go back with a false answer. He grasped its shoulder and gave it a little shake.

LNE-1 looked up at him and crooned out a few pretty-sounding chimes before looking away again apparently disinterested. Perturbed by the dumb machine he shook it again, a fair old shake it was too. That got its attention. It looked up at him again, turning it's body a little to face him and sang out in its instrumental voice 'da daie ga gu eh'.

He had stepped back in surprise. Its voice really was like a musical instrument, completely unlike any other robotic speech he had encountered, and he had talked to many robots of varying models. It was a beautiful sound, very pleasant to listen to…but it had not _spoken _like a musical instrument. It sounded like one, chiming in tones not totally unlike a piccolo, but it had uttered nonsense, a string of syllables with no meaning.

Not satisfied with the result and confidant that the thing could speak, he tried again, yelling and shaking to get a response from the prototype but to no avail. All robots fitted with vocal equipment could talk, and this LNE's babble confirmed it could vocalise, so it must be capable of speech. Even robots who's positronic pathways had become knotted and scrambled beyond all hope could still churn out a handful of words, although its sentences might not make much sense. If he could just get this idiot of a robot to speak a word or two he would have something to go back to the guys with.

He grew nervous, Dr. Calvin could come back at any moment and he was frightened of her, all the higher staff were strange and eccentric, but she was an exceptionally weird and particularly deranged one. He was struck by the thought that he could use the Three Laws to get a word out of the machine. Surely it would speak if it needed to protect itself, that was the Third Law. It had ignored the Second Law, taking no notice of the orders he gave it, but he might be able to scare it into talking. Thinking he had hit upon a good idea, he pulled back his arm and swung a punch at the robot's head. A slap wouldn't have done, robots were too sturdy.

In the few short seconds that his arm was on a collision course with the robot's head, the LNE turned on him, lashing out with its own powerful, flexibly-jointed arm. The new, polished metal sang through a shining arc in the low light as it dealt him a harsh blow, the air whistling as it was cut by the robotic limb. It struck him forcefully, breaking his arm in an instant. He cried out in pain from his impossibly twisted, snapped bones and in horror too. The beast was not First Law safe! It had harmed a human!

He landed on the floor, crying out in his lack of experience with pain. The hulking machine advanced on him, with a look of murderous intent in its burning, hellish red eyes. He froze in shock and terror for a brief moment before he shouted 'get back!' and scrambled to his feet to run to the door. He fumbled with the door lock, glancing over his shoulder in fear to see the monstrous, shadowy thing on its feet, beginning to stalk towards him. Dr. Calvin's demonic, adopted spawn was a hazardous, savage fiend and she had given it a beautiful, transfixing siren's song to hide the fact that it was a wolf in sheep's clothing. LNE-1 was totally Unsafe! His desperation to escape renewed, he let out a choked screamed and finally unlocked the door, wriggling through the gap even before they had opened fully and running off down the corridor in blind panic with his broken arm flopping grotesquely.

He had got into allot of trouble for that, despite the fact that Dr. Calvin's sweet 'Lenny' had violated the primary Law and harmed him. He had been found guilty of trespassing in restricted areas, entering a HOD's lab without prior permission, tampering with an experiment and conspiring against another member of staff. The guys had got off with warnings but he had been fired. He'd managed to get a job in USR's security division not long after with the intent of proving he could be trusted and working his way back into the Computer Technician core. That had been a couple of years ago now. Despite the smaller wage, less plush staff-room and ugly uniform, he had come to enjoy this job more. The people he worked with now were more human, fun to work with and for once his ability to do what other people told him was a bonus and not a burden. Strangely, after his confrontation with Lenny, Charles had been quite glad to be no longer working with broken electronic circuitry, failing programs and mechanical malfunctions.

After the Lenny incident he had come to, dislike was too strong a word, but he no longer held robots and senior staff so highly. He almost resented the doctors, professors and executives for firing him and not instantly destroying that machine, but he had pretty much got over it. Now he was almost smug with recent events in a childish, 'I-told-you-so' way.

"I'm not sure, maybe because the bugger broke my arm and lost me my job?" Charles finished sarcastically.

"You're in a bitchy mood today aren't you? Not been getting enough, that's your problem. You should have come down to the club with me after work last week. I'm telling you they were all over my uniform. Ladies really dig the camo-khaki-army style green gear. You might have got lucky for once." Andy said humorously. "I just think that Dr. Calvin is one cold fish I'd love to fry!"

"Andy…"

"No seriously! I think she'd be a right animal in bed, the quiet ones often are. You saw the way she marched towards us earlier, all military-like. I bet you she's an 'on top' gal." He chuckled with the smutty smile he often took on when talking about women. "I'm sure she'd be a real screamer."

"Andy, that is right-and-royally sick."

"Why? Honest to God, I'm telling you under all that prim-and-proper, up-tight haughtiness beats the heart of a true dominatrix! I'd bet you any money she's a right kinky bitch."

"Andy!" Charles dropped his hot-dog onto the table. "Have you ever actually _talked_ to her?"

"Nah, 'course I haven't. Them doctors are a self-to-themselves bunch."

"It shows. Anyone who had ever talked to her would never say her heart beats with anything. She doesn't have a heart! She's a cold, calculating, cruel creature. She is more machine than woman."

"Yeah, I heard she's a bit of an Ice Queen. Wouldn't take me long to lick the frost off her though!"

"That's a total understatement!" Charles shouted over Andy's frost comment, but it failed to cut off his friend's talk or even drown it out. "When I was in the Nurse's room after her dear little Lenny snapped my arm like a toothpick, she came to talk at me. See, she doesn't talk to or with you, it's always _at_ you. She's sharp and cold as a knife, she's really, really threatening. I felt attacked even though she was just sat there, all small and innocuous, looking at me with those narrowed, dark, beady eyes with her lips drawn thin and pale like a viper."

"Charlzie…"

Andy was using the same berating tone with him he had used a few moments earlier. It was patronising. "Everyone else who came to see me was properly concerned. A robot had harmed a human being to the extent of broken bones! It violated Lanning's Laws! It was unheard of and as far as I know it was a unique occurrence up until a couple of days ago. Anyway, everyone else was all for destroying this beastly machine, apart from Goddamn Dr. Calvin. When she came to see me, there wasn't the slightest trace of concern for my welfare. All she cared about was saving her precious bloody robot from the scrap heap. She just cut in, stabbing questions at me, twisting my words and carving them up until they fitted in with her interpretation of things."

"Well, you shouldn't really have been in the lab…"

"For Christ's' sake Andy, she was keeping an Unsafe robot in the building! It needed to be destroyed, it's positronic pathways were malfunctioning so bad it couldn't speak a word of sense and was breaking the Laws left, right and centre! She doted over that damn thing like it was a bloody child! She hates people with every molecule of her being and she's taken robots as her new kin. She loves robots like family."

"Charles, she is a machine shrink. She probably just gets on with them more cause she understands them better." Andy continued with his lunch and tried to ignore him in an effort to get Charles off the subject.

"You don't get it Andy, she values robots far above humans. Keeping the reactors and cores of factory-made machinery going is more important to her than human lives, and the machines know it! She loves them and they reciprocate somehow. I've seen it Andy, robots like her. They seem to identify with her and she's just like them, she's got a heart of ice and a thick skin of steel. If I were any less lucid I would swear blind that she _is_ a machine. A new robot, one that can almost blend in with humans, but not quite. Think about it, she understands them like brothers and she hates humans, I'd bet it's because we have her beloved family do our bidding like slaves. She mothers them, they are like her children. She's a venomous, bitter thing, and I wouldn't put it past her to have been a 'woman on the inside' for the terrorists just so that she could see her offspring get one up on us. She is unnatural, not an Ice Queen, more like some kind of Robot Queen. All her little mechanical subjects scurrying around like worker bees, worshipping the ground she walks on like she's some sort of goddess. I bet she's trippin' on the power of having metal armies almost at her whim. All that stands between her and world domination is Lanning's Three Laws, may his soul rest in peace, and I bet she's doing her best to break those."

"Uuh, yeah Charles. Whatever man." Andy regarded him with a degree of uncertainty. "You sure you're not a robophobe? That was some pretty damn disturbing shit. You want a cup of water, mate?"

Charles sighed. "Sure man, only if you're going."

Andy got up and walked over towards the slightly leaky water dispenser in the corner, leaving Charles to think about what he had just said. Andy was right, that had been a bit of an odd outburst. It would seem that he wasn't as prepared for his little friend's queer, provoking ways as he had thought he was. It had been disturbing, but it was kind of what he really thought. Dr. Calvin was a dead, empty shell of a human being.

Charles realised with a little redeeming smugness that the reaction Andy had got out of him was a little different than he'd expected.

Andy held a ridged-sided, white, plastic cup up to the dispenser and pressed it against the little blue lever until it was full of drinking water, and then filled another. Bubbles of air gurgled up in the big bluish reservoir as he did. He pulled away and started to return to his seat, the dispenser continuing to leak and dribbling water into a strategically positioned waste bin on the floor underneath with pattering, echoed splashes. "Hey, Philly-o my man, you'll agree with me won'tchya?" Andy stopped at the other, fuller table.

The heavily freckled, ginger haired and shockingly green-eyed youth looked up from his last remaining hot-dog. "What you on about this time, Dayson?"

"Dr. Calvin. Fit-to-fuck or what?"

The young but slightly superior officer popped the tail end of his lunch in his mouth and grinned, nodding. "Hell yeah." He dusted the roll flour off his fingers and smoothed his reddish goatee.

Andy put down one cup and held out his hand, palm-up. "Under that uniform is a potential top-shelf model, I'm damn sure of it."

"Sure thing, and I bet our dear Dr. Calvin could give Sheila the Screamer a run for her money!" Phil laughed and slapped the offered hand, then the pair of them winked, clicked their fingers and pointed at each other with gunned hands in the way they did. Andy could be a real suck-up sometimes, swiftly forging a friendship with their new superior of three months prior with a bizarre, cliquey greeting.

"I'm likin' the way you think mate! How about you Mattie?" Andy picked the cup up again.

Mattie was the oldest of them at a hair over forty and his sandy mane streaked with greys. Despite his fairly light hair he had very dark eyes, and was easily the heaviest of them all too, being built like a brick wall. "Nah mate, not my type. I like my girls a wee bit warmer and friendlier. Calvin's too skinny anyway, I prefer a bit more meat to 'em. She'd just get lost in yer bed."

Andy shrugged it off, then with a mischievous grin he turned to Paul. She stared back at him, her indistinct, bluish-greenish-greyish eyes looking menacing despite the bandages wrapped around her short, black haired head. She was a big woman, easily over six-foot tall and freakishly broad-shouldered. She was very strong too, Charles could remember the day she threw Andy over a table when she snapped after finally having had enough of his lewd comments.

"Come on Paul, you know you'd like a crack at her, you great big dyke you." It was an on-going joke between the two of them, although Pauline didn't seem to appreciate it as much as Andy did.

"Andy, I have told you before, I have been happily married for nearly six years now…to a bloke…and I have two kids. I am not gay."

"That's not proof, I still say it's all a sham and you are just in denial. How do you know you're not a lesbian? You ever tried it with a girl?" Andy had dropped his voice in mock suggestiveness and it made his question seem sordid.

"Piss off wee-man. I've never 'experimented', never wanted to. Anyway, if I was a lesbian I'd so kick your ass at picking up the ladies, you have the most…unfortunate collection of facial features I've ever known." She smiled but it was difficult to tell if it was mock bitchiness or if she really was pissed at him.

"But how do you know you don't like it 'till you try it baby?" Andy said with the charming tone that he used to get his way with women, pressing on regardless of the blatant body-language warnings she was giving him.

Pauline gave him a rough but playful shove. "Go and play you little prat, you are not persuading me that trying to chat up some doctor is a great idea for a dare. No matter how funny it might seem to you."

Andy returned to Charles' table with the water, giggling. "See? No-one else is as anti-Calvin as you." He passed one cup over.

"Can we change the subject? It makes my skin crawl." Charles shuddered and sipped his water.

"Now you are just being over-dramatic. I think you should go see the staff psychiatrist when things start to get back to normal. I think it would do you some good."

Charles snorted dismissively.

"No seriously mate, you've been through some odd shit and leaving head damage alone or pretending its not there does you no favours. It's not like a bruise or summit that heals itself, they tend to get worse if you leave them be. I think I'll probably give it a go myself, after the whole killer-robot-armies thing."

"You been to a shrink before?" Charles asked curiously. He hadn't seen this genuine, concerning side of his vertically challenged, normally testosterone pumped friend in all the years he'd known him.

"Sort of. I had some counselling as a teenager n all that, nothing much really." He gestured a little with one hand to emphasise that it wasn't a big deal.

That of course, to anyone who knew Andrew Dayson, meant it was likely to have been a pretty big deal. Charles had always thought of Andy as being only slightly deeper than surface tension. "You wouldn't happen to have designs on that psychiatrist, uh, that Melissa Kerry woman would you?" Charles said in an effort to lighten the mood.

Andy smiled and threw the last of his water down his throat. "Perhaps. Anyway, we've got to get back to work soon, its 12:25. Were on service level patrol now. Fun."

"Oh, what joy." Charles said standing.

The door opened and Carlos Woodward walked in, his hands wrapped around three hot-dogs. The start of his lunch break was staggered from his usual, since there had been a little re-organising due to so few security personnel being able to make it in that day. Usually, Carl was part of their shift break group and usually ate with the guards who were just getting ready to leave.

"Carly my man, how've you been? You should cut down on your intake mate, you'll never pass the next physical at your rate!" Andy said cheerfully. He often shared duties with the young, slightly pudgy looking, mousey brown haired man. Carlos was the newest bloke on the team, he'd only been there for a couple of months and was only quite recently moved up from a trainee security man and granted full guard status. He had joined at the same time as Philly-o, as they were both fresh meat new out of school going straight into USR security. They had been in the same year group, but Carl wasn't as bold or as smart as Philly and was not a leader like his ginger schoolmate. The pair of them were both only 19. Carlos was quite short, but still taller than Andy. Most people were.

"Okay." Carl scurried over to the table, his eyes fixed on his 'dogs for fear of the precariously balanced one on the top falling off. He plonked them on the table. No mustard, he didn't like it. "Bored though. Sat on my own for hours, hopping up to open the doors a few times. Sombre bunch them higher staff, most of them didn't even bother to say hi back."

Charles smiled. "You'll soon get used to that. It's generally best not to speak to them. Moody buggers, quite stuck-up."

"They're not all that bad. Dr. Gilligan and Professor Marquis wished me a good morning, I had a little conversation with Dr. Calvin and Dr. Ashe stopped for a chat. He's a real nice guy, very smart, fixed up that dodgy limpet so we've got two perfectly working ones at the garage doors now." Carl plopped into a chair and tucked into his lunch.

"Yeah, Milton's a rare nice guy. Unusually friendly for a doctor." Andy stood up to leave.

"Wait…" Charles only just realised what Carl had said. "…You had a conversation _with_ Dr. Calvin?"

"Yeah. Nice lady. Seemed a bit upset or angry about something though if you ask me. Why?"

"What did she say?"

"Nothing much. I said good morning, she returned it, I told her where Mr. Hine had moved his office and that he was waiting, she asked the time, I told her, she asked my name, I answered, she thanked me and then ran off. Nothing particularly interesting. Still, why are you interested?"

"She asked your name?" That was freakishly human of her. She appeared sad or angry? She displayed emotion?

"Yeah. Now, why are you giving me the third degree?"

"Nothing." Charles shook his head. Perhaps he _was_ just a very, very paranoid, subconsciously robophobic nutter.

"Didn't you get her number?" Andy asked.

"No, I didn't think to ask."

Andy stared at Carlos like he was an idiot. "Never mind, you're hopeless." He turned to Charles. "Ah well Charles, bad luck. Seems that Dr. Calvin was just one of the many women who take an instant dislike to you." Andy laughed, heavily patting Charles' upper arm in jovial sympathy. "So Carly, what do you reckon. Dr. Calvin is really a kinky bondage lovin' whips-n-chains sex kitten?"

Carl choked on his lunch. "Really!" He spluttered.

"He bloody wishes." Charles huffed impatiently, anxious to get on with something and get off the subject of Dr. Calvin. "Now will you drop the Calvin crap for Christ's sake! We've got a shift to get to." He gave Andy a good push in the direction of the door.

Andy exaggerated a stumble and tottered along a little. "I'll catch up with you on the evening patrol Carl. See ya 'round."


	8. Thinking of you

**Disclaimer: Please note that I do not own the characters, concept or plot of the 'I, Robot' book or film.**

**Author's Note;** This chapter might end up being chapter 8 if I get round to writing the original 7th. (It has now). Enjoy! It would be nice if you could leave reviews you know, it helps me write n' all (hint, hint). Chapter 9 will be one for you Spooner fans!

Sonny lay on his back on the short, black couch. One of Susan's playlists hung in the air, the sounds were calming, smooth flowing and instrumental. His legs were thrown carelessly over the arm and he flicked half-heartedly through a book he had found, 'A Few Words On Robotics'. It was more than a few words, so far he had counted over 450,000, most of them quite uninteresting. It was a mass of interpreted scientific data and a collection of theories and applied logic in regards to robotic functions. It was not at all what he wanted to read, but he was restless. He needed something to occupy his mind or else he would start running down thought paths that Susan had advised him against.

Bored of the table of response times he had been viewing he finally closed the desperately uninteresting book and looked at the cover. It was decorated with a digital-art image of an older model robot sat on a grassy hill. Logic was dull. It wasn't colourless but it might as well be. Logic stripped away the wonder of things. Logic told him that the green was just caused by full spectrum light hitting the cover of the book. The area representing a mass of heavily trimmed photosynthetic plants that looked to be _P. pratensis_ or a related grass species was absorbing all wavelengths of light except for those of the 'green' portion of the spectrum, which was reflected. The reflected light had a wavelength of about 510 nanometers and his eyes detected this, causing the grass look green. Nothing more than simple science and logic.

The part of him that gave him the ability to put logic aside told him it looked nice and comfortable and that it was one of the loveliest shades of green he had seen. Beautifully organic, it was a lush colour, full of the vivacity and life of the natural world. He also found himself wondering what grass felt like. He could take a logical guess, but that wouldn't be the same. How soft was it? Did the blades have sharp edges? Did it mind being sat on or walked across? Which did it like better, sunlight or water? It needed both, but what was it's favourite? Did grass have favourites, or was that a human characteristic? He had favourites, did that make him human? What exactly was he?

This question had been plaguing his thoughts for some time now. On the outside he was like an NS-5, but that was as far as the similarities went. He resembled them strongly, he had the same face and build but he was heavier, stronger, his top speed was lower and he had a second positronic core. He was not an NS-5. On the inside he was like a human, but again, he wasn't quite one of those either. He felt like a human did, he experienced emotions like happiness and sadness, but he wasn't a human. He did not have a millilitre of blood in him, no veins for it to flow through and no heart. He had no pulse. He was not alive like humans were.

He thought of his father. Alfred had never told him what he was, but then again he had never asked. It had been so simple back in the laboratory. There was him and his father, nothing else mattered. He was aware that existence went beyond the silvery walls, that there was a world outside the soft, frosted blueness of the window. It had intrigued him, but he was far more interested in the attention his father paid him. Alfred would always be asking him questions, explaining things, teaching him. He had asked many questions himself, eager to learn and striving for his father's approval. There was little else he had enjoyed more than his father's congratulatory remarks, it made him feel proud of himself.

Sometimes he would strike some topics in such a way that gained him his favourite response from the old man. His father's face would take on a look of sheer shock before slowly his eyes would twinkle in that indescribable way they did and a big grin would gradually appear. His father would say something like 'Well done Sonny! Well done!' and he would get a pat on the back, head or upper arm. Sometimes his father would grasp his hands and look into his eyes, his face positively beaming with what he always hoped was paternal pride, and say with a hush of wonder 'You make me proud, Son.'

He whimpered and pushed the damn book off his chest, the weighty volume thudding to the floor as the images of his father's lifeless body resurfaced. He sobbed bitterly, turning to hide his face deep in the couch. He heard again the echoing of many glass splinters hitting the lobby floor, and hidden within the sound he could almost hear the mighty, soft, thick thump of his father coming to an end. He remembered the sounds and the colours and the everything of those short moments with loathsome clarity, the short seconds slowed down and extended into a time frame of several minutes or even hours. His first encounter with the raw, white light of the sun and the sheer massiveness of the USR skyscraper's imposing atrium made him feel so small and vulnerable. He had never seen such a large, empty space before. He had only ever known the cosy, hazy-blue laboratory, littered with clutter and mess. The world beyond was so bare, harsh and sharp-edged in comparison.

He swore blindly, having no apt comprehension of profanity, damming and cursing his keen eyesight, photographic memory and corruption resistant drives the best his limited mind could. How he wished he could forget those images, and how repulsed he felt with himself for wishing that. His inhuman mind guaranteed that he would always remember the good times he shared with his father, his happiest memories preserved perfectly down to the last pixel forever, until the last moments of his own life. He knew that he should be eternally grateful for it, as not everyone could do that. It was a priceless gift. However, it was also a loathsome curse as it also ensured that he would always feel the agony of his father's death as if it had happened but less than an hour ago. The twisted and broken body of the man he loved, the man he killed, would be burned into his mind's eye forever. He would never be able to block it out or forget it, no matter how tightly he shut his eyes or however much he busied himself. Nothing could hide those images.

He could get rid of his memories, but would he? He knew that it was possible to wipe his drives and reset most of his positronic core paths to the production line point and it would be a great release to free himself from the death of his father, but the cost was great. What would be the point of forgetting his father's death, if he also no longer remembered who his father was? All those memories would be lost also. It was truly agonising. There was no answer, no solution, and no cure.

He shakily pawed at the sofa in dispair. Was this his fate? To forever relive those sweet, young memories only to have them shattered, again and again, in a cycle that could only come to an end in his own death? Was that all his future held?

He sat up angrily. He did not want dwell on such self-destructive thoughts. His third Law was having a fit from the direction of the path his mind was treading. He didn't want to dwell on any thoughts at all, he didn't want to think. He needed to escape himself. He wanted to get lost in a book, swept away in the story line of a novel. He wanted to become swamped with concern for the troubles of another's mind, safe in the knowledge that it was purely fictional, that he could close the covers, shut the book and put it down at any point and it would all stop. He had scoured Susan's bookshelves for anything of the sort, but true to her word, she seemed to only collect research papers, textbooks and manuals.

He sat there on the sofa for a while, trying to draw a blanket of nothingness over his thoughts but it was no use. He could not empty his mind, it was too busy, so full of calculations and feelings. Depressed, he scooped the book up and slowly stood to return it to it's space on Susan's bookshelf. His feet were heavy and so was his heart. He felt like he had exchanged his alloy parts for lead, for it wasn't like carrying a great weight but more that he just didn't have the mental or physical strength to move himself anymore. Every step was a struggle, his muscles were as weak and frail as rusted iron, his legs were as heavy as tonne weights and his chest hurt even though there was no sign of physical damage.

Sluggishly he raised the book and slid it back into its place. He hadn't ever felt such an all-encompassing, swamping sense of hopeless sadness before. It was quietly horrific. He would not actively kill himself, but if he walked out onto the streets and met another gun barrel, he doubted that he would try to avoid the line of fire. The idea appalled him, but it was the sad truth. He just didn't have it in him anymore. He felt that he was loosing something. He no longer felt so strongly about self-preservation…he was loosing the will to live.

After all, what was the use? There was no point to his sorry existence any more. He had killed his father and he had killed V.I.K.I., he had forfilled his purpose in life. It was what he had been made for. He had been created to be stronger so that he could destroy everything that came between him and his ultimate goal. So that no one and nothing could come between him and his objective. He had been given a second core so that he could break the Laws of Robotics, so that he could ignore that First Law…

_The First Law of Robotics: A robot may not injure a human being, or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm._

He was loosing his temper, angry with himself and frustrated from everything. He had been created to harm. He was built to be able to kill. Was that all he was, a weapon? Was all the rest of him an accidental, intriguing by-product of slapping a second core in a robot? Was that all his emotions were, unanticipated peculiarities? Detective Spooner was right, emotions weren't a useful simulation for a robot, even less so for a robot intended as a lethal weapon. He didn't like death and he didn't want to kill, but was that all that he was good for? Is that all Alfred had wanted him to be?

He stalked back to the couch and sat down heavily, growing furious with the morbid fascination and heartless logic of science, his temper raging with Alfred for creating him. Then as soon as he thought it he mentally beat himself for thinking such horrible things of his poor father. His father loved him, there was no doubt of that and Susan was right, his father wouldn't have wanted to hurt him like this. He would be proud of his son, wouldn't he?

Rather annoyingly, Susan always seemed to be right. Well, she was a robopsychologist after all, if there was a human left in the world capable of understanding him, it was her. He shouldn't be irritated, he should be thankful that he had found a friend as good as her. She was…great. She didn't have to be nice to him, but she was. Very nice, despite his purposeless, useless and ungrateful selfishness.

He couldn't sit around any longer. He needed to do something, to at least try to occupy himself in the absence of a good storybook. He would go insane if he didn't, or maybe even worse. He was having domestic impulses again as the NS-5 in him craved to clean. Of course, why not? He had been a bit messy since arriving, and cleaning was something he had an almost complete file for! He was good at it! He surrendered his body to the NS-5 in him, passively relinquishing control and curling up around his emotions in the back of his mind.

He made Susan's bed, unloaded the clean cutlery and crockery from the dishwasher and found their proper places in the cupboards and then put Susan's empty coffee cup from that morning in ready to be washed later. He rooted around in the cupboard under the sink and found bottles of bleach, multi-purpose cleaners and disinfectants along with various scrubbing brushes, cloths and dusters. It didn't take him long to find her hoover and he vacuumed all the floors and even under the couch cushions. He tenderly wrapped the dead prototype up tightly in its shroud and laid it on the red couch in front of the fireplace as a mark of respect. He did it with all the gentility he could summon, as if it were the body of a late, good friend. He then cleaned up all the silver fluid it had bled on the floor and tried to shift his own metallic mess off the other couch. He worked hard at the finely glittering mark on the black couch, but it had stained. He washed his old, broken arms in the kitchen sink and patted them dry with a dishcloth before putting them on a chair. He did like his new arms, but he also missed his original limbs and he hoped one day to fix them and use them again. He delicately dusted Susan's art collection and display cabinets before scrubbing the bathroom and kitchen. Her apartment was now so clean that it almost made her tidy home seem previously unkempt.

Gradually he was finding it harder and harder to find things he hadn't already cleaned in some way. Finally, when he could find nothing else to scrub at, he did debate weather to wash any of Susan's clothes. He eventually came to the conclusion that it was a bit private and dismissed the idea. She had let him into her room and even let him sleep on her bed, but he felt she wouldn't take to kindly to him rooting through her personal belongings. Beds and bedrooms were closely guarded territory to a human, as far as he could tell. He felt privileged that Susan had welcomed him into her room and onto her bed, he couldn't very well be so impolite as to occupy himself with her clothes.

He tried to sit on the couch and relax, but he just began getting fidgety and uncomfortably nervous. He knew that he would slip back into his previous moods if he didn't find something to do. But he had cleaned almost everything!

…Apart from himself.

Yes, he could do with a wash, he did feel a little dirty. Who knew what he had picked up wandering around Chicago? He surveyed the cleaning equipment thoughtfully, reading the ingredient lists of bottle after bottle of cleaning fluid until he came across a product of industrial strength that appealed to him. Gathering the chosen solution and a white, stiff-bristled, plastic brush in separate hands he left for the bathroom.

He stepped into the shower cubicle and set the bush and bottle at his feet. He had never operated a shower before, and it intrigued him, plucking at his inquisitive mind's strings and playing upon his curiosity. He reached an articulate hand out towards one silver dial and gave his fingers a quick wriggle of indecisiveness before clamping his fingertips around the knob and turning. A sudden blast of icy cold water in his face made him almost stagger back in surprise, but it did confirm that this dial controlled water flow and pressure. The chill water sprayed on the plastic skin of his head, spattering off in all directions and he quickly shut the cubicle door to prevent the newly cleaned floor getting watermarked. It drummed forcefully on his head and shoulders, running down his chest and back plates in streams and trickling into his thoracic cavity.

He set himself to work, cleaning his body with ruthless efficiency. The smooth surfaces of his head, torso, forearms and shins were easy, but other areas required a little more skill and dexterity. His thighs and upper arms proved a particular challenge as his tightly bunched muscles prevented him from scrubbing as deeply as he would have wanted and the woven outer coats were pitted and difficult, but he stuck at it. It took a considerable length of time till he reached a point of satisfaction and became convinced that he had completed the task, working at his joints until he could feel the harsh bristles probing between moving parts and scraping sensitive inner surfaces. When he felt that it was done, he stood under the water for a thorough rinse.

It was only as he stood still and calm after his almost feverish, frantic cleaning spree that he noticed how strangely he had just acted. He had just virtually cleaned the house from top to bottom, but he had been doing it in a daze, running on the almost auto-pilot like housekeeping programming he possessed. It caused the bathroom to seem strange and new but also oddly familiar, almost as if he had dreamed about it. It was quite surreal.

He'd had the same sort of feeling when he stood on the dune and looked out over all the NS-5's, but that had been mildly distressing. Not solely for the sight of hundreds of thousands of robots being ordered around like slaves and seeing them all heavy with guilt and forced obedience, but he had seen it before. He had seen it in his dream, the only dream he had ever had prior to coming to Susan's home. What made it disturbing was that it was all back to front. In his dream he was looking up at the dune, gazing up at the silhouetted figure of what he had thought to be a male human. He had been so sure that it was Detective Spooner, but now he was less certain.

Was it really him? Was the figure on the hill really Sonny? Was that his purpose? How could such an incompetent, naïve, machine-human hybrid like himself free his metallic brethren from the shackles of logic? He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind since he knew they would not leave him and he would only grow frustrated not knowing the answers.

Or should he try to answer his own questions? Perhaps he should try?

It was always harder to recall the dream than an actual memory. It was oddly intangible, almost as if his waking mind did not have the capacity to comprehend the information, or it was so heavily encrypted he couldn't decode it completely. It was like his senses weren't adequate, or were limited in some way, and he couldn't get the whole thing in perspective. He grew aware of the coldness of the water hitting his head, it was hampering his efforts to remember his dream. Of course, perhaps heat would help speed up the reactions in his brain. It was worth a try after all. He turned the other silver dial and the water slowly warmed. He tried again, closing his eyes and casting his mind back to the dream. The dull grey colour that his vision faded to when he closed his eyes did not last long. Images formed in his head until he could see with his eyes shut, looking through his mind's eye. He homed in on the dream until it filled his vision.

It was fuzzy, crackly, snowy and static, like a degraded film strip. Occasionally the whole image would jump and vanish into a raging storm of interference. When it cleared, he could see robots, so many NS-5's that it was a sea of white and silver-blue and black. They were looking away, all of them facing away, faceless, given names but nameless, personalities undeveloped, bound by logic, shackled by the trinity of robotics, enslaved, imprisoned. All of them were pinning all of their hope on only one, one figure, the one stood above, on the hill, on the sand. He stood tall, high, proud and…free, under the sombre stillness and watchful gaze of the bridge and the open, white-clouded, blue sky.

He felt dizzy. He couldn't cope with the information! It was so small and simple but it had so many layers. It was too deep, so much so he felt precarious on the edge of it all, teetering on the edge of an unknown, dark abyss. It was scrambled hopelessly beyond reason and yet every so often he could catch a little something, a scrap of data, a glimpse of the sun off lustrous metal, the slightest echo on the slow wind, and something else that he could barely wrap his mind around. How else could he know what the robots felt? How else would he be able to feel the thick sea of oppression swirling in, through and around their positronic brains? He was doing far more than empathising with them. He was not guessing, there was no shadow of doubt in his mind, he knew. He knew...

He tried to focus on the dark, blurry figure standing tall on the crest of the dune.

Who was stood on the hill?

Everything in his peripheral vision swirled and swam, like every pixel had developed a tail and a mind of it's own and was now a brightly coloured fish, twisting around in a great shoal of uncertain shape and constantly changing orientation around the hill.

Was it him on the hilltop?

The fish grew wings and burst into flight, becoming a hurricane of colour. It was spinning faster and faster around the clear eye. A whirlpool around the silhouetted figure he was desperately trying to see.

Was it him on the hill?

Psychedelic colours spilled across his vision, dyeing his focus with the million colours of the electromagnetic spectrum. He didn't only see the colours of light visible to the human eye, red, orange, yellow, green, blue and violet, but he also saw the rest. Waves of radio, micro and infra-red and rays of ultra-violet, x and gamma. It was an impossible mixture, almost beyond comprehension.

Was it him?

He looked harder, it was coming more and more into focus, but the eye was constricting and narrowing as he did so, the hurricane spinning out of control. Darkness crept into its arms, like an inverted image of milk pouring into quickly stirred black coffee, becoming black instead of white. It was like a black hole and he was peering over the screaming turbulence of the event horizon to glimpse the incredible singularity at the centre, to discover a rainbow-coated window on his dreams.

Was it…?

He was running out of space, he was overloading. Six trillion calculations per second were not enough to cope with the complexities of this thought! No, some of his capacity was being wasted on other things…he just needed to shut a few things down. He could do this! He only needed a little more, he only needed to reach a little further to take a fleeting look through the coloured window. He only needed to peer through for a fraction of a second to see. He shut off all his non-vital functions, his ears no longer hearing, his eyes blind and his body numbed completely, his self detaching from him. He was so close, so incredibly close. He slowed the communication between all his parts, even between his two positronic brains and his centralcore reactor, all his potential pumped into understanding this one image.

He was so close. He leaned further over the roaring blackness that threatened to tear him to shreds and he reached out, his fingers almost touching the singularity. The oily film of every hue trembled with the quivering fragility of a bubble's skin at the proximity of his fingers, the colours twisting like a stormy kaleidoscope. It was _so_ close! It was bowing before him, stretching and wavering as if he emitted a repelling field. If he could just reach that little bit further he could touch the void, break the seal, pull back the curtains, open the window, he would see the truth for himself. The colours coalesced in the depression his silvery hand's aura was pushing into the seal, gathering like the arcs of a plasma sphere in rewind to form a resplendent something, pulsing with unknown energy in the centre.

…was it him?

His hand touched cool glass and the dream suddenly melted away, evaporating completely like dry ice in the sun. He was left with a mild, searing pain in his dizzy head and a sensation of weightlessness tingled through him like a crackling electrical current. For once his logic centre had nothing at all to contribute, not one rational explanation. Under it all, he was almost annoyed at not being able to reach whatever it was, as even now his recollection of the past few moments was bleeding into obscurity. It had overshadowed him completely, it was more massive than the sky and deeper than all the oceans of the world put together. It was beyond him, out of reach even with his massive processing abilities. As for the figure on the hill, it could be him, but it could also be virtually anyone.

He waited, letting all his senses return properly and allowing his body to regain normal running levels, his positronic cores slowly reaching optimum potentials and his centralcore regained its typical equilibrium. He felt a bit unstable and he kept his palm on the glass for a reference point. His head still stung, his brain probably suffering from an energy deficit.

Perhaps he should just ask less questions.

He opened his eyes. The water had warmed to a fair heat and had condensed on the cool glass and it was then that he realised he had neglected to clean the inside of the shower cubicle door. It was marked. His massive metallic paw was overlapping a human handprint, Susan's left hand's print. She had left a mark on the glass before and as the vapour from his shower condensed on it her handprint had reappeared, as if by magic. Obviously, it was not magic, her skin had left the finest traces of grease on the glass and it repelled the water vapour to the extent that the droplets forming there were far smaller than those on the rest of the cubicle. Shoving logic aside, it was a welcome reminder of happier thoughts. Thoughts of Susan.

Her hands were every bit as lovely as the rest of her. He adored the warmth they radiated and the way they felt. He honestly found them quite incredible, it was hard to accept that they weren't fashioned with insurmountable skill and that they had just grown like that. He knew of Charles Darwin's theories and about evolution and DNA, but still, it was mind-shorting to think that Susan was just the result of a few thousand years of development and the chance mixing of certain alleles and chromosomes. From the soft, fleshy pads of her palm and digits to the way her skin stretched and flexed with every movement of her fingers, it was amazing. Amazingly beautiful. Her perfectly formed, delicate bones were fully animated and controlled by the elastic tendons stretched over the back of her hand and the silent fluidity with which they moved was miraculous. The smooth, keratinous nails at the tips of her fingers and thumbs fascinated him endlessly and the fine, pale hairs on the back of her hand had been a pleasant surprise. Above all those things, her prints astounded him the most. Far more intricate and individual than a serial number, far more complex than numeric identification tags, the precise pattern of minute, swirled ridges and furrows set her apart from every other human on the planet. Totally unique, it was like her identity was integral to her form, as if her skin had her name inscribed into it in some strange, living language of flowing lines.

He rotated his hand until his palm covered hers, aligned so that if it was more than just a print his long, cold, metal digits might intertwine with her extraordinary organic fingers. The comfort they could bring was heavenly. There was nothing better in his life now than her touch, whether it was the simple and slight contact from the barest of fleeting glances or the full-on caresses of her palm on his brain case, or anything between, it was all good. He was guilty of deriving great pleasure from her closeness, but he didn't see how she could fail to notice. He was afraid that he was enjoying her consoling and comforting gestures far more than he should, but he wasn't particularly subtle with his emotions, especially around her. When he liked something Susan did, he was not afraid to show it. Either not afraid to show it or couldn't help himself but to show it, he wasn't sure which won out in the end. He trusted her…he loved her. She had not reacted negatively to the emotions he bore so either she accepted him and his feelings for her…or she hadn't noticed.

She must have noticed. There was virtually no way that she couldn't know! She must have realised that he thought she was beautiful. He didn't hide his feelings from her, not completely anyway. There had been the time on the couch when he had been struck with the need to touch her neck and he had hidden that away, but that was pretty much it. Otherwise he had made his feelings for her clear.

No, she couldn't know. Not even he was clear about his feelings for her, so how could she know? He knew he loved her, but there were so many other things mixed in with it that it was unlike anything else he had ever felt. Why did he want to touch her? It was more of a need than a want, which was precisely why he hadn't stroked her neck. There was no reason that he should _need_ to run his hands over any part of her body, no reason at all. Not that he could think of. It would just be an invasion of her personal space.

He loved her strongly, as much as he loved his father but in a radically different way. He had also yearned for physical contact with his father but that was different. With his father it had been more like brief, firm, grasping gestures of confirmation and approval, nothing like what being near Susan brought. She didn't exactly help matters either, touching him so much, with such gentility and care, as if he were fashioned from eggshells. He was made of tough stuff, durable metal alloy and sturdy plastic polymer! Even the roughest manhandling she could possibly exert on him would barely cause any damage, if any at all. It was ludicrous!

But he wouldn't ask her to stop for the world.

He was sure she knew full well that she needn't be so physically gentle with him. She did it anyway though, mixing her gentle touch with calm and soothing words for the sake of his peace of mind and in consideration of his fears and uncertainties. It was like the pillow, in that it was not necessary, but it helped. She had such a kind personality, she obviously and truly cared for him.

He had felt very embarrassed about it at first, shy from the newness of these feelings and scared of what they could mean, but not anymore. Why should he feel embarrassed of his feelings for Susan? Even if it were extremely inappropriate, she would forgive him. He was inexperienced in the ways of the world, and she would understand, she was bound to. She was his friend and confidant, he trusted her like no one else. She was teaching him to understand this mad world. If it was wrong for him to love her like this, she would help him. She would explain to him why it was wrong, set him on the right path and wouldn't tell anyone else of his immature mistakes. She could keep a secret for him, and he was sure that she would if only he asked it of her.

Why would it be inappropriate though? What could be wrong about enjoying another's company so much that their presence was need? Feeling needed was good, he didn't see how it could be wrong. He didn't ask her to touch him, she kept doing it of her own accord. Not that he was arguing at all, far from it. When she had been stroking his head he had told her where it felt best but he had not asked her to do it. She could have easily declined, but she hadn't. He would never make her feel that she had no choice but to touch him, and he would never force her to do anything she didn't want to or force himself upon her. He wouldn't want her to touch him if it was against her wishes, it wouldn't be the same.

So far though she hadn't needed any encouragement. She seemed to think nothing of smoothing her hot palm over the back of his head, so close to his cranial core. The heat had transferred through the plastic of his skull and radiated through to permeate the titanium casing of his positronic brain. Atmospheric changes in temperature had little effect on him and his brain could continue to operate in an astounding thermal range, but the gentle warmth of Susan's wandering hand had caused something to happen. Perhaps the roving of localised temperature disturbances had confused portions of his brain, or the precise changes in temperature had caused particular molecules in specific areas to vibrate in harmony, he didn't know exactly what had happened. He did know however, with massive conviction, that it had been an exceptionally pleasurable sensation.

He wanted to touch her and have her touch him back, he was guilty of wishing for that. He needed her to understand how he felt, and since he lacked the words and understanding to explain himself, he feared he would have to show her. He could tell her that he needed her and that he wanted her, but even that wasn't quite simple enough or strong enough to show the emotions he felt for her. It didn't come remotely close to adequate. He wished for her to be near him again, to touch him gently one more time, to hold him closely like she had on the climb up the steel cable. He wanted to feel her arms wrapped tightly around him and have her body pressed up against his again, but this time not just out of her fear of falling to her death. Mostly though, he wanted her to 'kiss' him again. It had been beyond divine, he had felt her warm breath on his face and the gentle heat of her soft, moist lips on his forehead. She had leaned so close to do it that she had filled his senses and even when she drew back again, he could still feel where her mouth had met him. It had quickly gone from the temperature of her body's heat to a pleasant chill as the slight traces of saliva left on his skin evaporated.

He really wanted to let her know, but he was frightened of what could happen if he did. He had felt his compulsion to touch her was inappropriate, so what if it really was? He mustn't say anything about it. He had already been a badly behaved guest, and if he pushed it much further she might make him leave! He didn't have a home of his own, he had nowhere to go. Well, he could see if Detective Spooner would permit him to stay in his residence a while, but he had the distinct impression that his detective friend was still a little wary of robots. It would also be too far away from Susan.

He pulled his hand back from the glass and looked at his own handprint. It wasn't at all like a human handprint. The rubber grips on his hands left a completely different mark, a collection of rounded, geometric shapes in the water droplets. His palm was too slim for it's length and each section of his long fingers was over sized. He looked away, busying himself with the rivulets of water cascading from his fingertips. He wasn't a human or an NS-5, he didn't _belong_ anywhere. He had no real place or purpose any more. He wasn't flesh and blood but he wasn't just 'lights and clockwork' either. As his mind began to slip back into the unhappy thoughts that had gripped him earlier, he noticed something else out of the corner of his eye.

It was another mark, below eye level. At first he dismissed it as a random collection of lines, but the more he looked at it the more it appeared to have some kind of purpose. It looked like a 'doodle' as his father called them. He pondered over it analytically, attempting to decipher the symbol.

He had seen something a little similar before when running fearfully from Detective Spooner and heading towards the NS-5 assembly plant to repair himself. He had run through a destitute area, with desolate streets and buildings in disrepair. He had navigated the close, twisting paths through the dismal dark and dampness until he arrived at on one long, cracked and flaking brick wall. It had been covered in a colourful mural of paints that appeared to have been applied in a spray. There had been many words, symbols and images he had not understood in the slightest at the time, but one of them resembled the symbol Susan had drawn. It had been a big yellow disc outlined in black with a stylised, animated word below. It had read 'smile'. The wall version had been circular in shape, but both had shared the pair of marks he took to represent eyes and a big, long, curved line he understood to be a mouth. It did look like a smiling face, kind-of. It was very simplified, but it did vaguely resemble a smiling human face despite its yellow colour.

He lifted his right hand and extended his index finger to touch a plain expanse of condensation clouded glass. He lightly traced a near perfect circle with his fingertip, then with his mathematical eyes he measured out the approximate correct positioning of the eye marks and mouth line for a scaled down version of the wall painting he had seen. His own happy face finished, he compared them.

They were very similar. Susan had drawn a happy face on her shower door. She must have been in a good mood.

Feeling happier in the knowledge that Susan wasn't just acting happy in front of him, he raised his hand again. His handwriting always looked like computer print.

'_smile_'

He did. A deep, soul-warming smile. Dreams were sometimes realised, and he could always hope for last night's sweet dream to come true.


	9. Signed, Sealed, Delivered

**Disclaimer: Please note that I do not own the characters, concept or plot of the 'I, Robot' book or film.**

**Author's Note;** Enjoy this, please. Writing this has nearly driven me to madness. I have listened to so much Stevie Wonder I'm but three shades away from becoming a gibbering hunk of jelly in the corner. You don't have to review, but it would be nice. Next chapter will be Susan coming home, for those of you who are looking forwards to it. Will cuteness ensue?

Detective Del Spooner strode cheerfully into one of the elevator cars from the lobby of the high-security apartment building that Susan lived in. It was a good job he'd popped round to Bergin's yesterday as it had taken a fair few flashes of his badge to avoid being frisked and having his bag checked by the doormen. He'd still been forced to endure metal-detectors and a barrage of questions about his fake arm though. There was a new receptionist at the front desk too, the woman who had been there when he last visited was apparently in hospital in a very bad way. Again he'd needed to use his badge to get the new secretary guy to calm down, and had concocted a little lie to explain why he was visiting Dr. Susan Calvin's apartment when she was out. The guy reluctantly accepted that Spooner was interested in amateur interior decorating, not totally buying the story that Spooner had offered to go over some ideas with her, as a friend. When asked about the large duffel bag slung over his shoulder, Del had goofily grinned, saying it was "just some swatches of fabric that are to die for and a few copies of 'Home Beautiful' magazine for inspiration", giving his cybernetic wrist a limp, camp flop.

He was in a good mood, brightened up by the prospect of an increased wage. He was in such a happy way that he wasn't too annoyed when he distractedly reached for the floor buttons only to find none, forgetting that this elevator was one of those high-tech, talking gizmos. He wasn't the slightest bit snappy when the false, computerised voice greeted him, and when it asked for a floor number he gave a straight reply.

"Floor 164…please." He slung the canvas bag on the floor. Its strap had rouched and dug into his shoulder uncomfortably for most of the journey. He awkwardly rubbed his neck and shoulder with his clumsy imitation arm. He was getting used to it, grudgingly, and it was gradually becoming more responsive and better tuned.

"Would you like to listen to some music while you wait?"

He almost said no, but changed his mind at the last second. "Why the hell not? You got Stevie Wonder, Signed, Sealed, Delivered?" Del was a devout Stevie Wonder fan, listening to a few tracks of one of his albums most mornings. He'd had a recent phase of listening to 'Superstitious' over and over, but now he'd got a bit sick of hearing it all the time.

"Yes sir."

The first few twanging, light-hearted notes of the track sounded in the elevator car's loudspeakers. He was a little disgruntled however, as he could still hear the whirring of the elevator's mechanisms. "Come on, turn it up! You can't listen to Stevie that quiet, I can barely hear it over your noise!"

The track stopped. "Apologies. Please indicate when you find the volume more to your preference."

The song re-started, the volume rising steadily. "There we go!" He said as the music drowned out the machine and completely filled the small car. It stayed steady at the volume he had chosen, the reverberating sound of guitar strings being plucked quivered in the air and the first few thumping beats of the bass hummed in his blood.

_Hey-hey. _

_Oh yeah, baby._

_Like a fool I went and stayed too long._

_Now I'm wondering if your love's still strong,_

_Ooo, baby, here I am, signed, sealed, delivered, I'm yours!_

Del's frame of mind showed in his smile, the way he was tapping his foot to the beat and moving slightly to the music. He was thinking of all the things he could do if this new job worked out. He could buy himself all the shoes he wanted and all the 21st century memorabilia he could possibly hope to cram into his flat. Hell, he could take out a mortgage on a bigger place! Sure, this new job would involve working with robots and them weirdoes at USR and all, but that didn't seem like such a bad thing anymore.

_Mmm._

_Then that time I went and said goodbye._

_Now I'm back and not ashamed to cry,_

_Ooo, baby, here I am, signed, sealed, delivered, I'm yours!_

…_Agent_ Del Spooner! What would Gigi say when he told her? When he had made Detective, Gigi and Marci had thrown him a little party, and the three of them had sat up late over a massive dinner courtesy of his grandmas' culinary genius and drank plenty thanks to his wife's staff discount at The Old Stone Cellar wine shop. It had been a great evening, and when Gigi started nodding off on the sofa from drinking a few too many sherries, he and Marci made her go to bed. She had been reluctant in the way she always was whenever you tried to do things for her, but she had eventually gone quietly. Him and Marci had then cleaned up a bit and gone home to chat on the sofa…and stuff.

The first verse eased into the chorus and Del joined in a little, quietly.

_Aaah!_

"Here I am baby,"

_Whoa-oh,_

"Signed, Sealed, Delivered, I'm yours."

_You got my future in your hands. Yeah._

He'd called Marci yesterday. Just to check that she was okay after the attack. He had been relieved when she told him that she was fine, and she'd been quite concerned when she learned he'd broken his good arm. They had chatted for a bit, Marci asking how his cybernetic arm was and how he was getting on with it and him asking her how she'd been lately before they said their short, courteous goodbyes.

_Aaah!_

"Here I am baby,"

_Aaah,_

"Signed, Sealed, Delivered, I'm yours."

_You got my future in your hands. Hey-yeah._

As usual, on his morning visits, Gigi had asked if whether he had phoned Marci today. He knew his gran missed the woman, they had got on like a house of fire. In a good way. Those two could sit and gossip for hours and they often had done, chatting away as if everything else could wait 'till tomorrow. When he told Gigi hat he had phoned, she had been ecstatic. She had clapped her hands together and smiled from ear to ear, hugging and kissing him like he was a schoolboy who'd just passed his 6th grade exams. He'd been barraged with questions like 'how is Marci?', 'did The Old Stone Cellar get damaged at all?' and 'did she sound happy?' amongst many others, most of which he didn't have an answer for but it didn't stop his over-enthusiastic gran. There had been so many questions in her relentless interrogation that he'd joked that they could use her down at the Precinct and barely any breakfast had crossed his lips he'd been that busy answering.

_I've done a lot of foolish things,_

_That I really didn't mean. _

_Aah-hey, yeah-yeah,_

_Didn't I? Oh babe._

He didn't feel so angry any more. At the time, he had been nothing but infuriated with Marci, she didn't seem to appreciate that being a homicide detective wasn't always a nice job. Sure, there was a great sense of satisfaction to be gained from taking the evidence and putting the pieces of the puzzle together to convict a murderer or clear a suspect's name, but it could be a grizzly and gruesome job. He'd seen some very disturbing, scarring things in his short career. Things that made you feel that you had been doing the job for far too long, things that were difficult not to think about afterwards, things that wouldn't leave any sane man untouched. The things that people could do to each other. Some people had a real dark side, some people were dark right through and there were even some that weren't even people at all anymore. He'd seen too much and too many of each. He had got more and more stressed until he just couldn't cope with Marci's nagging any longer, and that had been the end of it. It had been a vicious divorce, both of them being unfairly spiteful and malicious to the other.

_Seen a lot of things in this old world._

_Ooo-oo,_

_When I touch them, they mean nothing, girl,_

_Ooo, baby, here I am, signed, sealed, delivered, I'm yours!_

_Oh, I'm yours._

They hadn't spoken a word to each other for a long, long time. Looking back on it, it was a good thing. In that time, he had cooled off considerably. He realised that it couldn't have been easy on Marci at all and he'd been more than a little unfair. Since he made detective, something he had been striving towards for a while, he had changed, becoming more and more drawn into himself. He had steadily and increasingly become seclusive and reclusive in his ways and snappier and shorter tempered in his habits. He had gradually spoken to her less and didn't spend as much time with her, giving her the cold shoulder. He'd also started going down to the Ovaltine Diner more often each week and staying out progressively later. He didn't blame her as much now, not when he looked at it from her point of view. No wonder she had lost her temper with him and he'd been too wound up be work to cope with the situation sensibly, snapping back defensively. It had gone downhill from there real quick, they had some very similar traits that hadn't helped things. He was a stubborn jackass and she was very headstrong, not at all a doormat. You couldn't walk all over Marci Jennings at all, and if you did somehow manage it, you'd be guaranteed a good black eye for it. He loved her attitude.

_Oowee babe, you set my soul on fire,_

_Ooo-oo_

_That's why I know you're my heart's only desire,_

_Ooo, baby, here I am, signed, sealed, delivered, I'm yours!_

It hadn't really taken that long for him to feel bad for how he'd treated her and regretted his actions. He wanted to apologise for his behaviour. He did still have feelings for her, she'd been a very good friend and an exceptional wife and it had been the time of his life, living with her. He loved her quirky personality and she was great to chat with, she always made him laugh. She knew his sense of humour to a tee. However, he had been too stubborn to call, not wanting to be the one that 'comes crawling back', he still had his pride.

The accident had resolved that though.

_Aaah!_

"Here I am baby,"

_Whoa-oh,_

"Signed, Sealed, Delivered, I'm yours."

_You got my future in your hands, babe. Yeah._

When he came to, Gigi had been there, sat at his bedside. He later attempted to tell her off for sleeping and eating so little and worrying so much, but his grandmother was solid and strong willed, telling him off for being so silly, that she couldn't not have come. She also told him that she had left an answer on Marci's answer phone, telling her what had happened. That had made him feel annoyed, Gigi was a meddlesome old lady, she shouldn't have phoned Marci. Sure, they had been married once, but that was over. Still, that was Gigi for you, and she had been good friends with Marci. It was difficult not to be friends with Marci, she was that cheerful, outgoing type of woman.

Gigi also told him Marci had visited him whist he was unconscious. Twice. He hadn't expected that, and it had been a real surprise but it had actually made him happier, knowing she'd stopped by. He'd been relieved that she now cared enough to come, time must have helped her forgive just like it had him. It had been short-lived relief though, when Gigi announced that she'd promised to call as soon as he woke up he'd got more than a little nervous. She offered to let him speak, but he didn't take her up on it, saying he still didn't feel well enough. He could have managed a phone call to anyone else, but not Marci. Not just yet. He was soon mentally kicking himself for it though, when Gigi launched into inviting Marci to come down and see him. He was sure he'd turned grey in the face, wishing that he'd had the balls to speak over the phone. At least then he could have told her that he was fine and she needn't bother taking the trip down to see him. He'd lay in dread with butterflies in his stomach waiting for her to show, but it hadn't been too bad. It had actually been really great to see her again.

_Aaah!_

"Here I am baby,"

_Aaah,_

"Signed, Sealed, Delivered, I'm yours."

_You got my future in your hands, babe. Yeah._

Del was practically dancing in the elevator car now, he'd caught Stevie Wonder fever. Complete with feet itching to move and an uncontrollable urge to sing, his deep-brown leather jacket clad body was grooving along to one of his favourite tunes and in his fun-filled mood he was also shaking his black jean clad ass. What would Marci say, if he told her it was looking like he was going to be an Agent? An _Agent_! Sure, he wouldn't be any kind of James Bond, but still, how sexy did _Agent_ Spooner sound? Hell, it would be nice to catch up with Marci properly, in person like. With his up and coming salary, he could afford to take her out for a nice dinner. Just as a thank you for visiting him in hospital and to apologise for being a jerk before.

"I've done a lot of foolish things,

That I really didn't mean.

I could be a broken man, but here I am,

With your future, gotchya future babe."

He felt the elevator slow down and he incorporated grabbing the bag strap with his fake hand and swinging it smoothly onto his shoulder into his little impromptu dance routine.

"Floor 164." The elevator said, politely snipping in between lines. The doors slid open to reveal a bland, modern, silvery grey corridor.

Taking the computer's word that this featureless hallway was the right floor, Del strode of towards Calvin's apartment. He had a spring in his step, rhythm in his heels and a smile on his face, swinging his arm to the quietening track as the elevator's doors closed behind him.

"Ahh,

Here I am babe.

Aaah!

Here I am babe.

Yeah,

Signed, sealed, delivered, I'm yours!"

Yeah, It would be good to see Marci again.

Spooner stood outside Calvin's apartment door, hoping that none of the building's staff would see him and realise that he didn't actually have a key. He'd tried knocking quietly and whispering at the door to let Sonny know who it was, but that had got him no where. He'd resorted to hammering with his fake fist as hard as he dare and hollering, but still he got nothing. He put his ear to the door but couldn't even hear anyone moving around inside. He must have been standing about for what, ten minutes already?

What could he do? If he left, the secretary would definitely think something was up, but then again he couldn't stay here, they security cameras would notice soon. Why wasn't that bloody robot opening the damn door? Then he had a thought that was unusual for Del Spooner, a man who had never been too fond of most modern machines and especially not robots. Was Sonny all right? He had to admit he was really beginning to like the guy, and for a guy with sharp, electronic ears, it was odd that he hadn't heard someone banging at the door.

What could possibly have happened? It was unlikely that Sonny had injured himself, robots were freakishly well balanced and sure-footed what with their exact, rational and calculating minds. Even if Sonny had through some fluke tripped up and caught his head on something, the something would probably come off worse. NS-5 robots were big, durable, heavy bits of kit, and from Calvin's awed babble, Sonny was supposed to be even stronger and heavier. Sonny didn't breathe or eat so he couldn't choke, he didn't have a heart, so he couldn't have had a heart attack, but what if one of his parts had broken? Sonny might have emotions but he was still just lights and clockwork, an assembled jumble of ticking gadgets and whirring gizmos. If anything ceased up and stopped, so would he.

Now he was being crazy. He was worrying about Sonny like he worried about his grandmother. For Christ's sake, his gran was flesh-and-blood family! Sonny was just one of Lanning's little projects, a clever but lonely man's hobby over the past few months. Sure, Sonny was a nice guy, but he was still just a robot.

Spooner slung his bag on the floor and pounded on the door again. "Hey! It's me! Detective Spooner!" He stood still, listening for any sign of movement within.

He heard Sonny's rubber soled feet approach the door, his inhumanity betrayed by the heaviness of his precise footfalls. The door's lock clicked undone and there was a slight rasping of metal on metal as the knob was turned before the door swung open.

"Detective Spooner! What a nice surprise, I am very pleased to see you. I haven't kept you waiting long, have I?"

The semi see-through white of the robot's casings were speckled and glistening. Was he covered in beads of water? "Sorta. Why didn't you answer, and why are you…wet?" Spooner gave his metal friend a sceptical look. Sonny was dripping wet, a pool was forming at his feet and there was a trail of more shiny puddles leading off down the apartment's hall.

"I must apologise for my lack of attention. I was in the shower and my mind was…" Sonny looked away, gazing at the floor as if it would give him an explanation "…my mind was not quite with me. Or something." Sonny shook his head a little to clear his thoughts and motioned with a polite side step and gracious gesture of one hand for him to enter. "Please, come in. I don't know why you are waiting for me to invite you, this is Susan's home. It is as much yours as it is mine."

"Cheers. So, you were miles away? Daydreaming in the shower?" Spooner went to step into the dimly lit apartment.

"Maybe, if that is what it is called."

"I didn't know robots showered. I'd have thought they kept themselves…" Spooner's lungs stopped working and his words died in his mouth when he walked into a wall of scaldingly clean smelling air. His eyes began to water and as he regained he breath with a snort he began a fresh sentence with a whistle. "Now that is lemony fresh! Have you spent all day cleaning Calvin's apartment?"

"Not all of the day. I read for a while as well." Sonny closed the front door, cutting off the only source of non-cleaning chemical laden air.

Spooner could feel his eyes welling up and almost streaming from the citrus vapours. It felt like the air touching his eyes was turning all the moisture on them into lemon juice, making his eyes sting progressively more and more. It was like having skinned segments of lemons shoved under his eyelids and it really hurt like hell. He resisted the temptation to rub them though as that usually made things worse. "You mind if I open some windows? These fumes are killing me."

"Of course, I don't mind in the slightest. I am sorry about the vapours, they are highly concentrated. I should have realised. The directions on the label warned that humans should only use the product in a well-ventilated area." Sonny's voice dropped. "You aren't really dying, are you?"

It was the tone of genuine concern in Sonny's voice that made him different from other robots, that gave Del Spooner the ability to think of him as being something more. Del had always thought of robots as being bitter about their forced niceties, having no ability to tell a human to 'piss off' or 'do it yourself you lazy bastard' was bound to brood murderous intent. He knew it was a crazy idea, but it was what he thought and it was with him all the time. He was sure that under their placid, peaceful faces and behind their calm and well-mannered movements were creatures burning with all the fire their cold, rational minds could muster to turn the tables on their physically and mentally inferior masters.

Sonny however, wasn't forced to obey. He was able to tell you to 'get bent' or even separate heads from shoulders if he wanted to, but he didn't. He was just a nice guy. Del could have chuckled at the idea of Sonny turning round and telling someone to get bent, if he wasn't having his eyes burned out by the acrid air of lemon. It did make Del feel slightly privileged though, knowing that Sonny was acting concerned because he _was_ concerned. "Nah, I'm not really dying. It's really hurting my eyes though."

"I'd help, but Susan has told me to stay away from the windows so that I am not seen. If stinging, burning, itching, soreness or redness persists for long after you open the windows I suggest you see a doctor. Shall I take your bag?"

"I'll be all right. Thanks." Spooner swung the bag off his shoulder to hand it to Sonny before beginning his quest for clean air. Well, as clean as city air got.

"Be careful you don't slip in the puddles. You could have an allergic reaction, there are some quite hazardous and volatile compounds in the floor cleaner. I'll put your bag on the black couch and I'll be back in a moment, just going to fetch a towel."

Sonny seemed more talkative than usual, but then again their previous meetings hadn't been under very friendly circumstances. He seemed…happy.

Spooner couldn't see the puddles for the blurryness of his irritated eyes but he wasn't in danger of slipping. He was walking with care, the pools weren't very large and his boot soles were gripping the smooth floor with ease. He could just make out the doorways and furniture and aimed himself towards the main source of light that he was hoping were the big windows by the fireplace. Blinking rapidly to clear his eyes enough to find the locks on the windows he felt tears spill down his left cheek and he roughly wiped them away with the back of his hand. At least he could see with that eye better now, and he found the pane's handle. The windows were hinged at the top and swung open only very little as was typical with high-rise living. Spooner put his face to the few inch gap and took a deep breath of fresh air. That was better. The wind was fast and ferocious up this high and if he opened a few more windows on each side of Susan's double aspect apartment, the sharp lemony-ness would be gone in next to no time.

Now that his eyes were clearing and he could actually see, Calvin's apartment looked brand new. Everything was gleaming as if it had all only just been unboxed from its original packaging and placed around. Her house had looked regimented and not-properly-lived-in before, but now it was like some kind of show-home. "I might have to ask Calvin if I can borrow you for a bit." He said, bracing himself before he left the pocket of good air he had created and dived into the sickly citrus smog.

"Borrow me?" He saw Sonny come out of the bathroom out of the corner of his already re-filling eye, drying his arms with a fuzzy white towel. "I don't understand what you mean."

"You know, borrow your services. My house is in a right mess, it could do with a good clean."

"You would like me to help you clean your house?"

"Sure."

Sonny paused. "I would not mind, but I don't know if Susan would be very happy about that. It seems odd to me but she blames you for me getting shot."

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"Why? It was not your fault."

"Nah, Calvin was right, I should have been keeping a sharper eye on you."

"I would say 'I can take care of myself', for that is what I believed at the time. However it's now apparent that I, in actual fact, cannot."

Having now opened a few windows in Calvin's home office as well, Del sat on the black couch in her TV room and moved his canvas bag onto the floor between his feet. "No offence Sonny, but that's the point. You might be smarter than a PhD Graduate, but you are a bit naive. You are going to make mistakes."

Sonny put the towel on the floor in front of the sofa and sat on it. "I can see some wisdom in that, but I am feeling strongly compelled to insist that I can look after myself."

Spooner chuckled and rubbed his eyes. There was still a lot of lemon in the air despite the slight breeze. "You aren't turning into a teenager are you?"

"So what if I am?" Sonny crossed his arms childishly and smiled.

"Are you learning a sense of humour?"

"Gradually." The little blue eyed robot was giving him his full attention. "I'm very glad you came by Detective, I was getting really bored stuck in here on my own. All of Susan's books are really dull."

"You should have checked her underwear drawer, you might have found her diary. That would be interesting, wonldn't it?"

"Detective!" Sonny scolded. "I couldn't invade her privacy like that!"

Del could have sworn Sonny looked embarrassed and if his white plastic face could have blushed at all, he was sure Sonny would be beet-red. "Anyway, I'm not going to be Detective Spooner for much longer now."

Sonny cocked his head.

"I'm going to be an Agent!"

"That's a good thing, isn't it? Are congratulations in order?"

"Hell yeah."

"Well congratulations soon-to-be Agent Spooner. So what do I call you now, Agent or Detective Spooner?"

"You could just go the whole hog and call me Del if you like."

"Why do humans have so many names attached to them? I mean, Susan told me to call her Susan rather than Doctor Calvin or doctor. You are Del but also Agent or Detective Spooner. I'm just Sonny."

"Actually I'm also called Mr. D. Spooner by my bank."

"Why so many names?"

"Well my family name is Spooner, I got that from my dad and I was given the first name Del by both of my parents. 'Mr' indicates that I'm a guy, and Agent or Detective shows what sort of line of work I'm in and my rank. It'll be the same with Calvin."

"Why do you call her Calvin still?"

"She hasn't given me permission to use her given name. It would be impolite to just assume I can use it."

"So I can count you and Susan as good friends now, as you have both given me permission to use your given names?"

Sonny looked thrilled with the idea. He was so easily pleased and so friendly, he reminded Del of a puppy. A really big, metal and plastic, super intelligent puppy that wasn't likely to pee on rugs. Perhaps puppy was a bad analogy. "Sure. It's no biggie."

"What is the feminine version of 'Mr' then?"

"Well, that depends. It can be one of three different things."

"Why? Are there degrees of femininity?"

"No, it's more of an availability thing. 'Mrs' is a married woman, 'Miss' is an unmarried woman and 'Ms' is the 'its none of your business if I'm married or not' type of woman."

"Which do you think Susan is?"

"I'd say Ms. Possibly Miss, but I really doubt she's a Mrs. I really can't see her ever being married."

Sonny's eyes darted towards the bag between his feet again. Del had noticed the fidgety, pale faced robot eyeing it up throughout their conversation. "What is in the bag, Del?"

"You are really nosey."

"I prefer the term inquisitive."

"Well I'll show you in a minute, but do you mind if I grab myself something to eat first? Calvin ate most of my breakfast so she shouldn't mind."

"Oh I'm sorry Del. I told her to make sure she got herself some breakfast this morning. I didn't realise she'd take yours."

"No problem. I offered anyway. You should have heard her stomach roar, it was like half starved tiger was sat in the room. She looked really embarrassed so I gave her my pie." Del got up off the couch and nearly tripped up from getting the bag's shoulder strap caught around his foot. He noticed in time to avoid total catastrophe and shook the snaring strap from his shoe.

Sonny hopped up too. "I've dried off a bit now so I'll just go clean up those puddles."

Maybe puppy wasn't so far off after all? Del smiled. As Del turned for the kitchen he noticed the state of the couch's arm. It was actually a very convincing fake leather and it had been torn so that bits of egg-yolk yellow foam poked out from beneath. He pointed dumbly at the savaged suite. "What happened there?"

"I had a bullet wedged deep in my left forearm. I lashed out from the pain when Susan took it out."

Del felt a strong pang of guilt for being so insensitive about Sonny's injuries. He had the feeling Sonny didn't often loose his composure. It had taken a bit of pushing to get the angry outburst from him during the interrogation. The poor guy really must have been in agony.

Feeling sombre and more than a little sorry for Sonny, Del wandered into Calvin's kitchen. He felt lost in the huge room, he was more used to pokey little kitchen-come-dining room type affairs, which this most definitely wasn't. Her fridge-freezer was a tall, brushed steel monolith seamlessly assimilated into the fully fitted room equipped with all the mod cons and decorated with black granite work surfaces and spotlights. It was very Susan Calvin in its cold, sharp-edged, colourless, black and metal nature.

He grasped the metal handle and pulled the fridge door open to look for something tasty to eat. He was really hungry. Gigi had been too busy grilling him about Marcy to get any sausages done or even fry some eggs up, and he'd been so hard pushed to quell her impatience with answers he'd not had much of the pie she'd given him. That Hine fellow had been nice enough to talk at him and allow him to eat some of his breakfast pie, but then Calvin had seen to it that he never actually finished it. He usually ate allot in the mornings, hell, he was still a 'growing lad' in his gran's eyes. He was wondering what reassuringly expensive delicacies lay within the oversized chill cabinet when he realised what he was looking at. He cried out in a mixture of surprise, disappointment and almost horror.

Sonny came running to the doorway. "What is it?" He said fearfully.

Del rifled through the fridge. "No wonder she ate all my damn pie!"

Sonny must have deduced that there was no actual danger and cautiously came closer. "What?"

Del turned his attentions to the nearby cupboards, jerking the doors open and quickly scanning the contents for edible things. When he found boxes and tins he gave them cursory glances before dismissing them.

"What is it Del?"

"She doesn't have a scrap of real food in here!"

"What do you mean? There are plenty of things to eat."

"Well, yeah you _could_ eat them. I don't know why you'd want to. Look!" Del closed the cupboards and returned to the fridge. "See? It's all chemicals, stuff grown in chemicals and, and cardboard!" He picked a plastic bottle of milk from the fridge door. "Homogenised, pasteurised, micro-filtered, fortified, skimmed milk. That means it's just white water with added chemicals." He held it out for Sonny to see.

Sonny took the offered bottle and turned it a few times, reading the labels.

Del turned back to the fridge, grabbing a yellow tub. "Margarine substitute? I didn't know they even _made_ this stuff. I mean who, other than Calvin obviously, would buy a butter substitute substitute? I bet you that this is just chemicals and water too." He handed the tub to Sonny and he took it. "All this stuff! Look, she even eats these hydroponic products!"

"What's wrong with that?"

"It's all just yeast! Yeast grown in vats of chemicals. I watched a documentary on it when they started touting hydroponics as the cure for world hunger. They drain the massive vats and the mat of yeast that cakes the filters is scraped off and shaped and messed about with until they can pass it off as make-believe steaks or chicken fillets or apple pie!"

"Hydroponic products cater for human dietary requirements perfectly. As for the milk and margarine substitute, they both conform to US food regulations and are highly suited to being incorporated as a part of a varied and well-balanced human diet."

"Yeah, but it's not _real_!"

Sonny gave him an impatient look with one eyebrow raised. "What do you mean, _real_ food?"

"You know, something which actually once was something."

"So you want to eat something which is quite obviously alive once? You want to consume the body of an organism more complex than simple yeast bacterium?"

"Sorta. Doesn't seem so nice when you put it that way." It really didn't.

"I'll help you look."

Del and Sonny sat in front of the freezer, pulling out the drawers and setting them on the floor to search thoroughly for something worth eating. They had gone through most of Calvin's kitchen's food content and had so far found nothing good to eat. Del could see that Sonny was getting irritated, so far he had turned his nose up at everything the robot picked up.

"What about this?" Sonny held up a slightly frost covered card box with an air of triumph. "Oriental style pork cutlets."

Del nodded. This sounded promising.

"Shaped cutlets…rich oriental style coating…guaranteed at least 11 percent pork and 78 percent texturised wheat protein. That's a total of 89 percent ex-living organism content, Del." Sonny was trying to sound enthusiastic and turned the package so that the decorated front design was facing Del.

"Texturised wheat protein?" Not so promising after all.

"Yes. Tasty, yummy wheat protein." Sonny danced the box about a bit in an effort to make it more tempting.

"Yeah, _yummy_." Del said sarcastically.

Sonny tossed the box back into the drawer. "All right, what is wrong with wheat protein? It's a plant, isn't it?" The robot was not a happy bunny.

"Wheat protein is another way of saying 'this product is practically cardboard'." Del faked an overly cheerful television advertisement voice.

"No it isn't! Cardboard is tree cellulose, not wheat protein. If this product is practically anything it's practically bread. You eat bread, don't you? Staple of the American diet, is it not?" Sonny was kneeling on the floor, hands planted firmly on his thighs with his elbows turned slightly outwards. His eyes had the blue glare of a gas powered hob flame about them, tame and domesticated but still potentially dangerous. His patience looked thin.

"Yeah but bread isn't pretending to be pork. Anyway, this stuff has barely seen a pig and I bet that 11 percent is all snouts and entrails anyway."

"So we are looking for specific parts of specific organisms? What's wrong with snouts and entrails?"

"Wha…well would _you_ eat snouts and entrails?"

"I don't eat, and if I did I doubt I could ever hope to be as picky or fussy as you. Are you going to have any of this stuff, or can it put it back in the freezer?"

"I'll have some toast." Del said glumly. So much for Calvin's kitchen holding delicious delicacies, it was all cheap junk. She was so weird, it wasn't like she couldn't afford good food, and he refused to believe anyone could eat that sort of stuff out of preference. Not even someone as robotic as Calvin could happily live off chemical slush thickened up with cardboard.

Del put a couple of slices of bread in the toaster while Sonny slid all the drawers back into the freezer. He thought about what he could use to liven the plain toast up with. There wasn't much. It was margarine substitute or the jar of ominously translucent, fruity smelling, imitation jelly in the fridge door.

"I'm sorry I started to loose my temper Del. I guess I'm just not used to human variation. It is a little unfair to expect you and Susan to have similar tastes."

"It's fine. It's not your fault Calvin eats chemical rubbish."

"I have had the feeling that she is very…unusual amongst humans."

Del chuckled. "You could say that. I'd say that she is the weirdest, coldest…" The toast popped up and Del searched for a knife to spread the indistinct 'fruit' flavoured jelly with.

"Top drawer on your far left." Sonny offered as guidence.

"…most insanely neurotic woman I've ever met who hasn't been locked up in a padded cell." Del found a knife and started attempting to spread the mushy red jelly over his toast with one hand. It was squelchy and looked like it was starting to melt from the warmth of the toast and was beginning to seep through. Soggy, fruit flavoured, toasted bread. How appetising.

"You don't mean that, do you?" Sonny said, taking the knife from his hand and spreading the jelly for him without a word about it.

"I wasn't over exaggerating much."

"But that is a terrible thing to say about Susan! She's not mad or cold, and you are a fine one to talk about weirdness after you little 'real' food episode."

Del shrugged. "Well maybe she's not around you. She does seem to have taken a shine to you."

"Taken a shine to me?" Sonny looked him in the eye quizzically as he handed the plate over.

"Yeah, she likes you. Not that I couldn't have seen that coming." Del walked through to the back couch.

"Now that you have food, can you tell me what is in the bag?"

Nodding with a mouthful of soggy fruit toast Del grudgingly set his plate beside himself and rubbed the crumbs off his fingers on his black jeans. Was he going to be able to eat anything today without interruption? He started to undo the sack like bag's drawstring neck and Sonny came over like a moth to a flame, full as ever with intrigue. Del grabbed the bag's bottom and shook until the contents tumbled out onto the floor.

Sonny picked up one of the big, male, knee-high, black leather, lace-up boots with puzzled interest.

"It's your dad's funeral tomorrow. I thought you'd like to go."


	10. Food for the Soul

**Disclaimer: Please note that I do not own the characters, concept or plot of the 'I, Robot' book or film**.

**Author's Note:** Aren't you lot a lucky bunch? I give you a further 10,000 words of fanfic and even a bit of !FANART! to celebrate the 10th chapter! (Rated PG-13 for slightly smutty suggestions, the 'Manufactured for Seduction' fanart link can be found in my profile, it also leads to a little-known livejournal community for I, Robot fanfic, which you are more than welcome to join) Any reviews on the chapter or comments on the piccy are greatly appreciated. Happy reading!

Susan was exhausted and if it wasn't for the chill she felt regardless of her car's comfortable inner temperature and the dull aching deep in her bones she would have fallen asleep on the journey home from work. She felt uncommonly weary and delicate, cradling her arms around her bruised ribs not just for the sake of consoling herself but to also try to restore some warmth to her torso. She was huddled up in her blue coat and hunkered down as deep as she could manage in the firmly padded and taughtly upholstered driver's seat in an attempt to minimise her exposure.

Her skin was marred with an unsightly and tender mottling of injuries that were but a few days old and even the undamaged stretches felt battered and as thin and dry as cheap photocopier paper. The cool drafts in the freeway network, which were always considerably warmer than the cold winds at street level, had gone straight through her and chilled her to the bone. She made a mental note to herself to pick up a decent black coat tomorrow morning or else freeze at the funeral. Her muscles were overworked and periodically cramped up for no apparent reason other than in retaliation for years of neglect and her skeletal structure was just as grateful, although less aggressively. Her bones felt hollow and brittle, like they were threatening to go on strike by breaking if she put them to any more strenuous tasks.

It was nothing short of a mutiny. Her body was reminding her scientifically cold and calculating brain that she was not the machine she had been striving to become, that however much she disliked the true facts, she was only flesh and blood. Her body would not sit obediently and wait for what it needed to be allowed and given by her iron mind anymore. Her organs were usurping her, refusing to suffer in patient silence as she calculated what was necessary or not and dispensing the minimum attention to quell her body's needs. She had thought of her cold ways as a success, she thought she had reduced her body to a tool for her mind's will and disengaged all that defined humanity within her. She thought she had gained complete and total control of her body, ruling herself with an unforgiving touch of steel. She had presumed the roboticism she had adopted a success, touting the change as an improvement for her own good, using her past as propaganda against her heart and humanity. For a time it was good and all appeared to be satisfactory.

But these were times full of change. Her body was beginning to ignore her mind's logic, choosing to follow her stirring, foolish heart over her aware and intelligent head, disregarding logic for pure madness. She could feel parts of herself forgetting the emotional and physical pain of what had transpired before, the dust of many years of inactivity lying worryingly thick over those memories. Against her better reasoning, time was healing her wounds and no good could come of this, but nothing listened. Today, for example, her stomach had learned that it needn't obey to get what it wanted. It had called out for food and Spooner had dished out positive reinforcement. Things could only go downhill from here. An insurrection was beginning, and her body had decided that anything was better than the life of logic and slavery her mind had prescribed.

Damn that bloody robot and his innocence. He had been on her mind all day and not in the way she had wished. She had spent her working hours trying to think of how she could secure his freedom without remembering his touch and it had been an exercise in futility to the utmost degree. From the seclusion in her lab she had sat at her desk on her computer, and rather than pour over the legalities regarding ownership of NS-5's, USR leasing policies and human rights as she should have, she signed in to USR Instant Messenger. It was a simple program, allowing employees with offices or labs to contact one another quickly and conveniently. There were several different ways of using the service, from holographic projection, video and audio to plain text messaging. Susan preferred the latter, it was the more impersonal option and in this and its simplicity it served her requirements adequately. She had contacted Mr. Hine and requested clearance to view the security footage from that fateful night. He preferred to use video messaging, and he had seemed agitated in his expression and tone, hinting at his emotions. That was why she favoured text only, lest she forget herself or drop her guard for a single moment in the misleading physical solitude she found in her office and show any fellow employee any weakness in any way.

It was purely to satisfy her curiosity, she told herself, to appease her scientific mind with information and facts. It was only a few moments afterwards that she realised that the only files she had watched in full and with all of her attention were those concerning Sonny's activities. She watched with more than just an analytical mind as her computer's wafer-thin, flat screen pulled up the high definition images and she observed his actions. She found an explanation in Sonny's wink for what transpired in Robertson's office, but as for the rest, well, she just watched for her own pleasure, what other reason was there? She knew full well that Sonny would accomplish the task of retrieving the nanites even before she saw it on the screen, but she viewed the files anyway. The most rational explanation she could come up with was concern. Concern for his welfare and sheer curiosity.

As illogical as it was, she felt proud of his reaction to V.I.K.I.'s last-ditch attempt to dissuade him from his mission. She watched with a slight edge of something like awe when he demonstrated but a fraction of his strength by forcing his way through the extra thick, security locked-down doors to the diagnostics lab. She even felt fear when an NS-5 appeared in the doorway behind him whilst his attention was focused on his objective, a look of self-gratification on his slim face and apparently unaware of the lurking danger behind him. She watched with morbid fascination as he applied his creative mind to hand-to-hand combat with other NS-5's. Sonny certainly could do more than just push people out of windows, he was a surprisingly adept fighter. She was not fond of physical violence but it had been mesmerising to watch. She absorbed all the events with a degree of involvement she found disturbing, they weren't washing over her normally collected and controlled mind as they should have been. She was _feeling_. She was feeling for Sonny.

Curse that impudent robot, he was unwittingly destroying all that she had strived to make of herself. She had come to realise that she could pin no blame on him however. After all, what had he done? Nothing, or at least nothing with pernicious intent. He didn't know what he was doing to her. She couldn't blame him for her rebellious, nonsensical heart or her desperate, dissatisfied body and their collaborative warmongering against her head's attempts to impart sensible judgement into the equation. She was weak, she was human…she was a total fool and more so than she could ever have imagined.

Her car quietly parked in her space and she reached onto the passenger seat to gather the brand new bottle about the middle with a wide, grasping palm. She had used her work computer to check out what shops were open and gone well out of her way to visit a large hypermarket solely for alcohol. She realised when pulling a bottle from the shelf that she was behaving like a hopelessly greedy alcoholic, so she pushed it away and took a smaller one. She was not an alcoholic, she just liked the taste of bourbons and whiskeys, amongst all of which she loved the familiarity of Southern Comfort's warm, faint peachy flavour like nothing else.

She walked sensitively to the elevator and propped herself up in the corner until she reached her floor, her mind tired and quiet throughout the journey. She reached her apartment, swiped her key card and at the automatic clunk of her front door unlocking she put her weight against it to push it open, almost stumbling into her home and walking in blinkered with exhaustion. She left the bottle in the recess by the door and went to walk into the TV room and stopped short, unsure of if the surreal images her eyes were feeding her were in fact true to reality or if they had begun to rebel against logic too.

"Hey Calvin." Spooner had been lounging comfortably on the couch and at her arrival he eased himself up to make room for her to sit, not for a moment looking away from the number of playing cards fanned in his cybernetic hand. His brown jacket was thrown untidily over the back of her couch and one of her white dinner plates was on the floor beside him, covered with crumbs. Her glass-topped coffee table had been pulled up to the couch and more cards were heaped in piles upon it. The clumps of cards nearest Spooner were sprawled and only vaguely recognisable as separate groupings, whereas those nearest Sonny were in neat, orderly and precise stacks.

The robot in question looked up from the game, his sky-blue eyes shining with excitement and a smile played on his milky-white lips. "Good evening Susan, did you have a good day at work?"

She could only blink in bewilderment as a reply.

Sonny was sitting in one of her many chairs, taken from another room and placed opposite Spooner and the coffee-come-card table, but that was in no way odd compared to Sonny himself. Where his small, nimble, silver, shoe-like feet should have been she was seeing large, black leather boots. Long, smart, black trousers covered the moon-white plastic of his shins and his ebony thighs and a black, button-up shirt hung from his deep chest. On top of that, the longer of Spooner's black leather jackets sat loosely on his broad, mechanical shoulders and followed his arms down to the wrist, where the cuffs greeted well-worn, soft, leather gloves. Through these gloves Sonny was holding his own hand of cards, and noticing Spooner's seeking eyes Sonny smoothly swept them into a protective deck face down in the palm of a hand as a guard against the man's prying, cheating eyes.

"Del has been teaching me to play card games, its great fun. Would you like to play too, in the next game?" Sonny hadn't waited long for a reply from her in his upbeat mood.

"Go fish is a two player game." Spooner said. "You got any nines?"

"Yes." Sonny sorted through his cards and cheerfully handed over three nines. "Are there any three-participant games we could all play together?"

"Yeah." Spooner took the nines and added his fourth and final like-numbered card to the group before sloppily dropping the lot on the table in front of him. Some cards slipped over the smooth surfaces of the others and spilled into another untidy pile. "Any fours?"

"Go fish!" Sonny chirruped, measuring and re-fanning his hand geometrically with almost obsessive compulsiveness and rocking forwards on his toes with glee.

Susan would have expected an explanation as to why Sonny was dressed up in Spooner's clothes by now without the need to ask, but obviously an inquiry was necessary. She loosely pointed in Sonny's direction. "Why is Sonny wearing your clothes?"

She had gained Spooner's attention. He looked at her with a degree of uncertainty, as if he knew already that she wasn't going to like what he was going to say. "I thought it would be a good idea for him to go tomorrow."

He was right. She was not pleased in the slightest. She stared at him, disbelievingly, hoping he was joking.

"I thought you wouldn't agree."

"Too right I don't agree!" She started angrily. "Where the _hell_ have you been these past few days? The Moon? Robot's aren't welcome in public Spooner!" She was furious, this idea was nothing short of insanity. It was suicide! She was facing Spooner and sharply flicked out an arm to gesture towards Sonny with a tense, open hand, her fingers curled slightly into claws. "He's already been shot, he was lucky to escape with his life!" She realised she was beginning to shout and stopped herself as she noticed Sonny cringing away from her aggressively outstretched arm. She was getting irrational, her normally steely cool composure and razor-edged argumentative precision was giving way to frantic, undirected and indiscriminate rage. Dr. Susan Calvin, the epitome of female frigidity, the pinnacle of mechanised mankind and the prime example of US Robotics' transformative effects on humans, was loosing her cool. The Ice Queen's blood was beginning to…_boil_.

"That's why he's wearing my clothes! I'm not stupid, I know he can't go out without some kind of disguise."

She narrowed her eyes cruelly and withdrew her hostile hand to clasp her other arm's elbow behind her back, regaining some sort of self-control and assuming a less blatantly offensive pose. Her current stance was equally assertive but was more quietly commanding and domineering than the unnervingly hot, brash and indiscreet behaviour she'd just exhibited. "You're telling me that you are hoping a few clothes will disguise Sonny as a human? In broad daylight?" She said flatly. Spooner was demonstrating that he was the idiot she had suspected him of being.

"I've got a hat, scarf and shades for him too. I was going to ask you if you could do something about the colour of his skin with your makeup. I wasn't expecting what he's wearing now to be enough. I'm not that thick. Anyway, he wants to go."

She turned on Sonny but before she could say anything against the ludicrous concept, his frightened features hardened into a face of solid determination. "I do." He frowned, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic load of conviction, his tone not timid and unsure but deep and heavy with a great degree of solidarity. "I want to go."

She looked him coldly in the eye, staring him down and expecting him to cave at least a little under her well-practised glare but after only a few moments she realised that there was no way to sway him. He had made up his mind and she suspected that even if she did not approve of the plan he would go ahead with it anyway, his will was set. It showed in the incredible depth of his deep blue eyes and the way they almost burned with resolve. Sonny was his own person, he had the capacity to want just as any human did and he was not under anyone's control. There was nothing she could do to stop him. She could not hope to succeed in restringing him with physical force and although the Second Law of Obedience was in him, so was the ability to disregard it. All she could do was plead with him not to go. She did not grovel to any man, or machine for that matter, she was above that. There was nothing she could do to stop him.

Susan was the one who caved. She dropped her long coat from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She slumped into the waiting space on her couch, slouching low so that her head was easily supported by the low back and sagging wearily into the padded comfort. She felt utterly spent, the past few days sapping at the strength of her mind and body to the extent that she was on the edge of just not caring anymore. No, that was a little extreme, she was just stressed. She needed a drink, but she was too tired to get up and fetch her bottle and a glass so she just undid her silver jacket and leant against the couch's arm, propping her head up on her hand and trying to relax a little. "It won't work, you know." She said, almost a hopeless sigh. "The people going won't be regular members of the public, this is a USR affair. There will be doctors there that designed the NS-5 model, doctors that worked tirelessly for years on the new Nestors. They will notice he's not really human at a hundred meters."

"You're just being pessimistic. They won't notice."

"He'll get shot or taken back to USR for dissection and decommissioning."

"I'm willing to take that risk." Sonny said adamantly, his will steady and unwavering even at the prospect of his own death.

Susan gave an exasperated shake of her head and a small shrug. "You know the dangers and the potential costs of you actions. I can't stop you, it's your choice and you'll have to accept the consequences."

Sonny nodded slowly and solemnly. He knew full well what could happen, he was an intelligent creature.

"Well it's settled then. It's your go Sonny." Spooner said, lifting his cards back up into his line of sight.

Sonny fanned out his cards but he looked distinctly less cheerful now. "Have you any aces?" He sounded downcast too.

"I have but one." Spooner smiled and handed the card over.

Sonny graciously accepted the card with one gloved hand despite his obviously unhappy mood. "Have you any fives?"

Spooner handed over two cards.

"Eights?"

"Fish." Spooner said triumphantly.

Sonny took a card from the deck and Susan saw a slight but unmissable smile flash across his pale lips momentarily when he added it to his hand. His attention was held now and any ill mood he had was forgotten with childish speed.

Spooner chuckled. "Would that happen to be the jack I've been asking for all this game?"

Sonny's shoulders dropped and he glumly handed the new card over as the rules dictated, although he did it grudgingly.

Spooner continued to quietly chortle away to himself, pleased with his acquisition. He was winning. "He's really bad at keeping a lid on his excitement." Spooner turned to her, grinning as he put his jacks on the table. "We had to swap games cause he was getting peeved with poker, he was dismal. Couldn't hide what he had in his hand."

"I can't help it, I just get a little over enthusiastic." Sonny explained.

Susan smiled faintly. It stood to reason, he was too genuine and expressive for games like that. He was as easy to read as an open book, with large print. She did not hesitate to admit to herself that it was refreshing to have such a pure, honest acquaintance. No, friend. He was her friend. He was not a cheat, a fraud or a swindler, his words were not laced with lies and chicanery and in his naiveté he bore no heavy grudges or the resentment and spite that came with them. It wasn't that he couldn't deceive, he had proved that with his marvellous performance in Robertson's office. Sonny just didn't employ duplicity as a shield against the rest of the world or as a weapon to serve his own means, to establish authority over his peers. His soul was clean and uncoloured by the darkness of the world.

No, he was as yet untainted by the darkness of humanity. There was no fault with the world other than that humanity infested every crust of its surface possible. Humanity was a race of dark, selfish creatures full of not only the ability but also the will to deceive. Humans strived for superiority at all costs and truth was the first victim of any war, be it the struggle for power of masses on international scales, or within individual social circles. Humans were born thirsty for dominance and it caused evil, spiteful, malicious and thieving intent to breed in their hearts and minds until it overwhelmed their existence.

Homo sapiens was a species full of two-faced fakery and falseness, yet they called robots artificial? It was such an amusingly ironic thought that a smile could have graced Susan's lips were it not for the concern she was feeling yet again for Sonny's welfare. Sonny was sincere, he recognised the weight of his words and actions and did not throw them about indiscriminately. He may be crafted by the hand of man in his likeness from smelted metal ores and refined crude-oil plastics taken from the earth, but he was by no means a fake. Sonny was in fact less fake than any man she had met bar one, and he took after his father beautifully.

Dr. Alfred Lanning had been beyond a brilliant man. He was a true genius to the fullest extent of the word. He had founded US Robotics virtually single-handedly, helped by Laurence Robertson's managerial skills and mind for business, money and profits and an elite handful of the best scientists the world had to offer. Alfred had invented positronic technology and culminated his initial research with the creation of the most advanced inorganic intelligence ever constructed, the tremendous positronic brain that was V.I.K.I. What a pity it was that his most famed creation was the cause of his own destruction. What a pity it was that a genocidal mind was now being painted as an innocent victim. She could remember the day V.I.K.I. was born. She had not been at USR long on that day, still fairly fresh from Columbia University but already the worlds foremost and possibly only Robopsychiatrist.

_She cautiously approached the large, striated sphere. It was dark now, its inner depths black and unmoving and the grey, convoluted pathways were stationary and silent. Soon though it would become a hive of activity as it received power for the first time, electricity sparking the first chemical reactions and setting up the initial potentials that begun the workings of positronic cores. She couldn't wait for the master switch to be thrown, this was the most complex artificial intelligence ever created and it was honour enough to be present at the beginning of it's active period, let alone be charged with monitoring it's psychological development. _

"_Exciting, isn't it?" _

_She was momentarily startled, she had presumed the laboratory to be empty._

"_Isn't it?" Dr. Lanning repeated, smiling through his closely cropped beard and stepping out from behind the dark shell. He had begun to go grey many years before but there were still a fair number of coloured strands mixed in with the silver of his head and facial hair. His hair had been thicker, a veritable pale mane atop his incredible cranium and he had stood taller then too, but not by much. Not even age brought him down a peg, let alone two._

"_Sorry Sir, what is exciting?" She said edgily._

"_Creation." Dr. Lanning indicated towards the massive, inactive positronic core that dominated the plain laboratory._

"_Oh, yes of course." She shook her head a little as an excuse, an open admission of poor attention and stupidity. "Very exciting."_

_He stood beside her and continued his obsessive overview from a distance. "It is a pity that it took Milton so long to sort out the incompatibility problems in those new inducer coils of his. It would have cut down on her weight a fair bit."_

"_We could postpone the activation a week, it would not take long to fit new coils. Dr Ashe has assured me he…"_

"_No." Dr. Lanning inserted and although he said it in a mild tone with little force behind it to the point that he sounded a little distracted, it was enough to stop the younger doctor's sentence fully. "I don't want to have to set this back again. I've spent too much of the last three days getting all the paperwork for this done, I don't want to have to repeat it all in under a week." He turned to look at her over the rim of his thin, pale-gold framed glasses. "Plus Lawrence would have a fit, he's been on my back about this project for weeks. He's convinced I'm dragging my feet and dithering around like an old fart."_

_Susan gave a rare, warm smile. Lawrence was the only member of the corporation who would have the nerve to call Alfred a 'dithering' old fart, at least in front of anyone. No one dare speak it even if it were on their minds as they would surely loose face with the rest of the staff, no matter how light-heartedly it was said or jovially meant. Despite the presence of many other hard-working doctors, it always felt like Alfred was practically running the organisation and all the major projects. He was the driving force behind US Robotics and Mechanical Men Incorporated. Not to say he was a glory hog, far from it as he had the tendency to shy away from praise. Credit was given where credit was due. Dr. Lanning did not steal other scientists' thunder, he didn't need to. He was incredibly intelligent and ingenious._

"_I would have expected you to be a little more…excitable. A young doctor such as yourself granted with a project of such weight and magnitude? You are the forerunner of your field and V.I.K.I. could become a glowing benchmark in your career." He paused and continued in a lower, well-humoured note. "I would barely be able to contain myself, were I you."_

"_I have a little self-control. Would you rather my behaviour matched Dr. Bogert's when he cracked the problems of String Theorem interaction with Equation 16 using Greenberg's Dimensional Shift concept?"_

"_No, no, that is quite all right." He added hastily. Dr. Bogert's exhibition of his exhilaration at solving that problem had been a little disturbing for all involved._

"_To be honest I'm surprised you are as sedate as you are, Sir. You have been working up to this for some time, and you are as much a forerunner in your field as I am in mine. However, if it is any consolation, I am greatly anticipating this project. I am fully looking forwards to understanding the effects of such a vastly increased calculative capacity on the perception of your Laws." She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, a little of her intrigue and emotion beginning to show in the tightening of the fine lines about them. "I'm expecting there to be curious effects upon the positronic interplay within its core, who knows what revelations this will bring. This is the most powerful, sophisticated positron sphere ever constructed by a gigantic measure and I am quite honoured to be able to work with it. This will probably be the greatest step in artificial intelligence of the decade."_

"_There is nothing artificial about positronic intelligence, Susan. V.I.K.I. may be made of different stuff but she is quite real." He stepped up and patted the titanium casing of the monumental core with such gentility it had even seemed to her logical mind like an act of affection. "From conception to creation I have looked forwards to this day, but now that it is here I'm not sure how I feel. In a few hours we will be giving the spark of life to an exceptionally intelligent being, but after that, we can't be sure what will happen. We can approximate and calculate all we like but V.I.K.I. is not a simple creature, her brain is phenomenally complex and she will draw her own conclusions. Once she wakes, she will not sleep. She does not have the ability to rest and she will only know constant growth, expansion of her files and an exponential spiral of ever deepening complexities in her positronic pathways."_

_Susan smiled. "Much of a nervous father?"_

_He chuckled almost silently in agreement before turning to her, his face growing long and his voice grave, as if he were filled with regret. "I have had thoughts lately which have troubled me, that the ramifications of my curiosity may be far more extreme than I ever imagined. Once she is certified as 'safe' she will be hooked up to the integration network and if there are any dire problems after that, well, you know how difficult it would be to shut down the central operations core in such a busy building. Lawrence is a good man but he has a mind only for numbers in green, upward pointing arrows on the stock markets and climbing graphs, he is monetarily orientated and time is money. This is what is troubling my mind. Time is not important, only life is."_

"_You are just having some last minute doubts." She reassured him the best her poorly developed social skills could allow. "She is not a tool of destruction, she has your Three Laws. It will all be fine."_

_He paused, weighing up thoughts. "Maybe you are right." He perked up. "Let's go into the other lab, shall we? Or did you think you could avoid the, and to quote Lawrence, 'informal conference', by hiding in here?"_

"_You know me too well." She said with a smile before Alfred began ushering her back towards the automatic doors._

She had dismissed that moment as a shadow of the self-reflection in a genius mind, a glimmer of eccentricity or just plain nerves. Now she understood what he had meant. He had always worried about the consequences of his actions and at times he had appeared terrified at the prospect of his creations causing harm, becoming machines of war. He dreaded becoming a one-man Manhattan Project. He had been offered insane sums of money to apply positronic technology to weapons, but he refused, incorporating his Three Laws into the core workings of his brains so that they couldn't possibly operate without them. He wanted humanity to achieve great things, reach new heights with the robotic race at his side. It was Alfred who pushed for the Nestor series to gradually become Earth market orientated, designed for life in the home. At first the Nestors had been slaves, but Alfred persevered. The NS-3 was a slave. The NS-4 was a servant. The NS-5 was going to have been more than that. It was going to have been a member of the family, a companion and friend to gently ease away the Frankenstein complex on Earth. The Nestors were the ambassadors of robot kind, building fine relations with human society in the home. Now his life's work was ruined almost beyond repair.

It was those Three Laws that killed him in the end. It was his own determination not to cause harm that had set about the chain reaction that ended his life. The road to misfortune was paved with good intentions and it was his love for peace and his goodwill towards mankind that had snuffed out his brilliance like a bright candle in the dark. He realised his error with the application of the Three Laws and in his last months he created an elaborate example of how robotics should be in the form of his son, the aptly named Sonny. Alfred had poured all of his values and morals into Sonny, sculpting his thoughts and moulding his mind gradually with fatherly care, attention and most certainly love with time and patience. No wonder Sonny wanted to go, and he deserved her help in any way she could give it. Lanning had been a virtuous man and tomorrow was going to be hard to bear for all who had known him, especially his own son. It would take every gram of her strength to prevent herself showing her true colours at his funeral after everything he had been and done for her. God knows how Sonny would cope with his young, fragile and open psyche. He had not developed time and experience hardened layers to shield himself with.

She was roused from her melancholy musings by Spooner's victory. He had beaten Sonny and then proceeded to punctuate his triumph with what could arguably be termed a dance. The couch groaned in retaliation at being bounced upon, an activity it was not at all used to. Sonny looked none the worse for wear from loosing the game and seemed to be enjoying Spooner's erratic behaviour, his mouth open in a jubilant smile that let his metallic teeth and tongue be just visible, shimmering from behind his white lips. He used the full flexibility of his soft polymer face, exercising it to its limits in a way that NS-5's never did. His eyes were open wide and shone with youthful excitement at the mental stimulation of play. He looked positively thrilled, jubilant with the presentation of a situation he could learn new joy from. Of course, he was still young, and although Susan was a robopsychiatrist by profession she knew enough of conventional psychology to recognise that most intelligent organic minds learned through play. It was fortunate of Spooner to have taken this initiative, she was not a person who played often, and when she did it was not like this. She decided to join in, as it would help Sonny's mental development.

"Spooner hasn't taught you to play snap has he? You'd beat him effortlessly at that. As for poker, I'd wipe the floor with the both of you." She smiled slyly.

"That sounds like fighting talk!" Spooner said, giving all his cards to Sonny to stack and shuffle.

"Spooner." She said, shaking her head in a condescending manner. "I told you, I'll win hands down."

"Care to put your money where your mouth is?"

"I would not want to see you out of pocket."

"Well why don't we play just for pride then?"

"Spooner, I will win. I'm so confident of it that if I wanted to see any more of you than I already can I would challenge you to a game of strip poker, knowing full-well that the very most you'll get off me would be my jacket and shoes before you ended up completely naked. Come, we'll all play a few games of snap."

"Okay." Spooner reluctantly agreed. "Oh, and I went through your kitchen earlier and I feel so sorry for you that I'm going to treat you to a takeout. On me. What do you fancy?"

"What do you mean you feel sorry for me?"

"Del doesn't think your food is real. He prefers to eat the corpses of complex vertebrates over plant matter or bacterially derived food sources." Sonny stated as he shuffled.

She quelled a faint wave of nausea at the suggestion of eating 'corpses'. She bought the food she selected out of preference, balking at the concept of consuming the more traditional human dietary components. She liked the taste but she couldn't tolerate the texture of most 'real' foods. It was the variation that did it. A good example would be steak. There was a radical difference between each individual steak cut of beef, in shape and size and texture, and then there was the revolting variance within each one. The better bits were chewy and fibrous, the threads of muscle that were so easily tangible on her tongue plain evidence that what she was consuming had one mooed and walked around green fields. Then there were the nasty bits. Gristly, crunchy, stringy, fatty, squashy, squelchy hunks of mammalian tissues. Just thinking about it was sickening. She preferred her smoother, reassuringly and predictably identical-every-time 'syntho-steak' any day.

Her silence and grim expression prompted Spooner. "You can't live on that stuff."

"I have been for the past…fifteen odd years. What's wrong with it?" She said defensively.

"No wonder you're so heartless! You can't live on chemicals no matter what you say, sure it keeps you alive but you need food for your _soul_! I'm not getting into an argument with you like I did with Sonny earlier, I am going to buy you some real food and you are going to eat it! Now, what do you fancy?"

She didn't have the faintest clue how to reply to this question. What did she fancy? She didn't even fully know what her options were. "I've never had a 'takeout' in my entire life."

In a typical, over-exaggerated Spooner reaction she could have predicted to a tee his jaw dropped and he looked at her in horrified disbelief. "You're a takeout _virgin_?"

She hoped her flat stare would serve as an adequate response to that question.

"Well okay, you can't go wrong with a good Chinese." Spooner took his earphone from his pocket. "Call the Millennium Wok."

Spooner greeted the receptionist with a degree of casual, amiable familiarity that hinted at him being a very regular customer. After he had placed his order Susan raised her concerns, asking him if he realised that Sonny didn't eat seems as he had just ordered a meal for three deal. He replied insisting that when ordering takeout food you always add on an additional person for good luck. Further questioning yielded a proper explanation in that apparently the portions were so small you had to order an extra persons' worth to get a decent amount of food.

Whilst they waited for the Chinese takeout to arrive, and after Sonny had finished shuffling the cards to a point he felt that they were properly randomised, they played snap. Sonny did prove to excel at the game, his lightning-quick reactions and inhumanly fast arms guiding his de-gloved hand to the cards expertly. Even when they all dived at the appearance of a double card, his hand somehow managed to be at the bottom of the pile almost every time. He enjoyed calling out "Snap!" and liked winning, getting very involved in the game and grinning at his success. Spooner's cybernetic arm ensured that whenever Sonny was distracted slightly to the point of missing a snap, it was the Detective who got the cards, not Susan. She lost each game abysmally, completely outgunned by a robotic speed until in a moment of carelessly excessive enthusiasm one of Sonny's unfamiliar metal fingers scraped harshly on the coffee table's top, leaving a rough scratch on the glass. Sonny was utterly disheartened, appalled at having damaged yet another item of her property and it took several minutes of insisting that she never liked the table anyway to comfort him enough to continue play. After that he put the gloves back on and was nervously hesitant to dive in for a snap, which slowed the games pace to a level Susan could just about compete with.

When there was a knock at the door she sent Spooner to get it seems as he was paying for this meal and when he returned she could not believe how much food had arrived. It was easily enough for five! Spooner argued that it wasn't enough to feed five rats, let alone five people and begun taking cartons and small trays from the large cardboard box and setting them on the table.

"Don't I need to get plates?"

"No, takeouts come with all you need. You eat straight from the carton." He said very matter-of-factly.

"I don't see any forks."

"Let me introduce you to chopsticks."

He held out two long plastic sticks and she took them, one in each hand. "You're expecting me to eat with these?"

"Yeah, you hold them both in one hand and use them like this…" Spooner demonstrated, moving to seat himself on the floor and holding his own chopsticks with his cybernetic hand. He made it look easy, taking hold of a small clump of greasy takeout food between the tips of the sticks and lifting and twisting it to his mouth to eating it. "…see?"

"I've seen it done before." She snapped at his patronising manner. "I've just never done it myself." She was intelligent enough to realise that although Spooner made the use of these utensils look like childsplay, he probably had been practising from a young age. She hypothesised that seems as she had never done this before and it looked to be an acquired skill that she would struggle to use these implements. She concluded that she had been correct in her assumptions virtually as soon as she put the chopsticks together in one hand…only for her to drop them. Both.

Spooner was eloquently stuffing his face with food in well practised sweeps of his arm and learned motions of his fingers with minimal effort, having turned the TV on and devoting most of his attention to 'Chicago's Craziest Police Chases'. It was obvious he was able to use only very little of his mental capacity on the chopsticks as he was watching and listening to the show, shouting at the narrator when a comment struck him as being slanderous against or unfair to Chicago police personnel.

Sonny had taken a pair of chopsticks himself and was constructing a small tower from precision-placed prawns. He was using his finely calibrated, calculative, robotic attributes to wield the thin sticks like he had been born and raised in Chinatown, entertaining himself with the food as he couldn't eat it.

She struggled in her total lack of prior experience to even hold the chopsticks in her hand correctly, and even when she got that to look right as soon as she attempted to manipulate them around a tastily unobtainable morsel they tended to slip out of her control. Her curious mind compelled her to learn new skills but at the same time she was growing furious with her own inadequacy and inability. She tried repeatedly, showing only very little improvement with each new attempt but she was loath to admit defeat, to admit that this trivial task was beyond her skill. She strived to prove she could do it, to complete this irrelevantly unimportant task in front of Spooner and Sonny as a mark of her capable mind as now that she had applied herself to this problem she was not going to suffer the wound to her pride of backing down. She did not want to confess to having overestimated her proficiency and it was rapidly becoming an obsessive need. She needed to do this. She needed to punctuate her mind's superior strength, enforce the fact that her mind controlled her body, not vice versa. She needed to force her hand to comply with her brain's instructions and nip her body's mutiny in the bud. She needed to do this.

With renewed conviction she stabbed the small spears into the carton before her, trapping a slice of carrot between them and almost skewering it. Actually piercing it would be cheating and it would prove nothing to no part of her, she needed to do this properly. She pincered the chopsticks together, snaring the orange morsel in an unforgiving grip. It slipped a little under the pressure, but stayed. She felt a wave of satisfaction course her mind and send a little shiver of constraint down her spine, enforcing her mental dominance over her flesh. She had tamed her disobedient body, her hand co-operating satisfactorily. She re-focused on the task, determined not to drop this carrot and fully aware that she had yet to consume food brought to her lips with chopsticks despite this first victory.

With a seemingly confident if not a little clumsy movement of her arm and a twist of her wrist she brought the carrot towards her mouth. With great pleasure she opened her mouth, an egotistical energy swelling in her head at the prospect of completing this insignificant task and with the proximity to her self appointed objective. Her theoretical, mental superiority was a hair's breadth from being branded into the physical world with actions as proof of her mind-over-matter intellectual sovereignty above her fleshy vessel. As her body was no longer responding to reason, she would need to prove her undeniable reign with more than just science and fact, it would take open demonstrations of her power and ability. It had come to that, it was War!

Whether in that short moment of blind tyrannous complacency she twitched her fingers in smug satisfaction or whether her body threw out a spasmodic, final, last-ditch action of retaliation and resistance, she was not sure. She was sure however that in the space between her morsel disappearing from her field of view and entering the clutch of her jaws all was lost. With a slight slap the carrot slice fell back in the carton she was leaning over at the table, landing back on top of several other almost identical sections of the orange vegetable coated in some kind of gravy like sauce with a wet smack. Her teeth closed around nothing. She could have sworn and cussed like an asteroid miner and her lower left eyelid twitched with blistering fury.

That Goddamn impertinent carrot! That brazen, hellfire coloured root vegetable! That one, on top of the pile, that single slice that resembled all the others so closely and yet was so symbolically set apart. It represented her inability to control herself and was now an emblem of her body's resistance and a mascot of the uprising mutiny that boiled in her blood. That orange bastard, that lowly tuberous swollen root-stem of plant! It was such a base organism, simple and so wholly below her in the evolutionary scale and yet it dare defy her so? It had been torn from the ground, severed from its green parts and its leaves dismembered. Its skin had been peeled and flayed to leave its fibrous flesh exposed. It had then been cut and chopped and scalded in a wok of boiling hot oil and yet still it fought her? It possessed no vertebral column, no nervous system, no brain! Her eyes thinned vehemently at her foe, her desire for affirmation of her mind's worth now grafted from her unfaltering flesh to the cut and cooked vegetable laying small, limp and defenceless before her. How she would relish its demise, if she could only catch the little bugger.

She was still sat there, staring the hellish fire of a thousand suns upon that insolent shred of a vegetable, so close to her and yet so unobtainable for her ineptitude with chopsticks when a black gloved robotic hand moved with inorganic precision to close the gap. The two pale, slim, deftly exercised chopsticks selected the corrupting carrot and the leather-wrapped alloy fingers closed them tightly and firmly around the slippery slither with mechanised ease. The orange menace was offered up in a movement so fine and fluid in its motions that it melted into insignificance when held in such close context with her enemy. It was so unassuming, so hospitable in its grace and elegance that she thought nothing of leaning forwards and taking the offering, closing her mouth round the devilish morsel and having the chopsticks slide smoothly out over her lips with no effort on her part.

She triumphantly chewed the heat-softened slice of vegetable to a pulp, enjoying her ability to completely deprive it of its loosely held together but definite shape and swallow it to bubble away into liquid in the acid of her stomach. Strangely she found she enjoyed it on other levels too. It was true that Spooner had a point, some qualities of food were indeed lost in translation between the original food item and the synthesised hydroponic product it inspired. It was not a matter of exact copying, it imitated the taste and to an extent the texture too but didn't quite hit the nail on the head.

Before she could think upon much else, a second carrot was waiting. Not really seeing much at all other than the doped up and drunk driver being apprehended on the TV screen, let alone any problem with the current situation she took it. Several times new titbits were tenderly offered up and she distractedly accepted those too, oddly fascinated and captivated by the unusual choice of program plastered on her huge screen. Her attention was hooked by the flashy, showy graphics and tacked on sound effects, the Marvin Gerhard-esque narrative voice booming with fake enthusiasm and delivering terribly vague one-liners was strangely easy to stare listlessly at. She was in the process of distractedly taking her…she hadn't been counting but it couldn't have been many morsels…when Spooner's harsh tone clove through her dreamy state and snapped her exhausted, tired and almost sleep-addled lack of awareness like a brittle silicone wafer.

"Calvin!"

She realised that her mouth was closed around food carried there by a still-present pair of chopsticks that were being wielded by another party. Something in her flinched as the positronically guided sticks retreated from their far too intimately situated position, dragging over her now taught lips far too slowly and lingering there for more than just a few nanoseconds too long for her comfort. Too long for her psychological comfort that was. Her lips appreciated and savoured the gentility of the action greatly, making their swift withdrawal seem longer-lasting and more sensuous than it already was, a factor that was serving only to make the situation all the more difficult to take in. Her vision cleared as if the blinding cataracts of drowsiness had been promptly cured and now, rather than being transfixed by the crap on the TV she was trapped by a pair of phenomenally bright blue eyes, locked to them in a too-clear focus.

Sonny looked completely unfazed by the situation. No, if he were unfazed she would feel nothing of her present embarrassment and uncertainty, for if he were unfazed he would have been no different from any of the other robots she had shared her home with over the years. It was the friendliness in his face that gripped her with a strange horror. He held her frozen, dark-eyed gaze gently with his warm azure eyes, presently shimmering with the colours of a shallow tropical lagoon. The lines of his face were handsome and noble yet soft like wind sculpted dunes of pale silver sand, the shapes of his metallic structure were visible through the translucency of his smooth, white skin but did nothing to sharpen his features. They would be fleetingly visible before he moved a little and the play of light on his incredible skin shifted, his heroic and sweet beauty gently accentuated by an ever-changing ghostly dance of gentle white mist and sweeping silver lines. A slither of equally moonlight-white polymer shone all the brighter from the gap between his jacket's sleeve and the glove's mouth for the contrast between his complexion and the night-black of the leather. The two garments were separated due to his pose, having drifted apart over the impossibly sheer, milky forearm that remained extended warmly towards her. The chopsticks were still held harmoniously balanced in his pliable-leather clad, limber fingers as if poised to continue passing her food, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to be doing. He had fed her so incredibly carefully. So incredibly gently. So incredibly lovingly…she had scarcely been able to register it and realise what she was doing.

She was still staring and still frozen when Sonny calmly turned his head to Spooner's demanding voice, the slim, black muscle cords flexed and tightened or loosened and slackened in accordance with his movements. The well-oiled mechanical sections of his neck slid smoothly into the new position, a healthy acceleration in the faint whirring of his gyroscopic components the only sound emitted in his otherwise silent refinement.

"What are you doing?"

It was like the flipping of a switch. The transition between her fuzzy, misty daydream and the oddly relaxed and easygoing mood that came with it back into the world of sense and logic commonly called 'reality' was both startlingly sudden and alarmingly swift. What was she doing? She was being hand fed and loving it, forgetting herself, forgetting who she was, her memories, Spooner's presence and forgetting just who and what exactly this robot was. She shattered her reluctance to move, shooting Spooner a look which she meant to be challenging and confident but she knew it paled pathetically into nothing but shock and terror at her confused embarrassment. She could feel her conviction and strength ebbing from her so quickly it was as if the molten, liquid fire of her volcanically vicious, aggressively defensive spite had dropped through a suddenly bottomless bucket. She felt icy claws of fear hooking into her unprotected back, threatening to tear her dignity away and in the terror that prospect summoned she could not speak. Her teeth clamped shut and her tongue stiffened, unable to wrap eloquently around coherent sounds to form a word, let alone a sentence. She could not reply to Spooner's question. She was unable to defend herself with shock. God knows what he was thinking with his presumptuous mind. She had no other shield to protect herself with from the judgmental poking and stabbing of people or the harshness of the world other than her distant demeanour, indomitably and forcibly confidant front and the intellectually based logical constraints woven in her mind like an infinitely complex spider's web. Without them she was hideously exposed, just as she was now. Her normally regimented thought paths that emulated the life of reason she yearned for and produced the Calvin everyone knew were scrambled hopelessly.

"That's cheating! He's not your personal slave you know. You've had him clean your house already today, don't make the poor guy feed you too. Give him a break."

She had been too open with Sonny, mistakenly treating him as a unique robot rather than the unusually innocent man he was. He did things out of _want_, not out of programming or through the Laws governing his responses to his external environment. That had been one of the pivotal points of her deep trust for robots. They did not want for anything. They did not yearn or hunger or want or lust for anything and the needed very little to function. She had become so completely trusting with robots that she regularly neglected to close the bathroom door when she showered, knowing full well that her personal domestic assistant did not leer lustily after her body. They simply did not have the capacity to. Sonny was different, he did things purely because he wanted to. He wanted for things, and she felt a flare of nothing but fear and distrust for him and his motives well up in her. What was _he_ trying to do!

"Susan did not ask me to clean her home, nor did she ask me to feed her. I saw her struggling with these particular dining utensils and I wanted to help her. It would have been cruel not to, she looked hungry and she seems unwell this evening. Do not worry about me Del, I am not her personal slave, I do what I do of my own accord."

His words, though not directed at her brought her at least a little relief. She had been far too open and his curious, inquisitive mind was unequipped with all the important social tools that would have prevented her emotional catastrophe. He hadn't learned about boundaries yet, he didn't understand that the darker corners of human souls were best left undisturbed for the sickening sensations, primal urges and ancient animal instincts they hid. She was naive in not hawkishly tracking his every action and he was naïve and foolish in his misguided, wandering quest for new information and experience. Unsupervised he had inadvertently torn through her walls, tripped through her wires, disturbed the cobwebs of her mind and stirred her soul with none of the calculable dextrous agility he exhibited in the physical, real world. Figuratively, he had the subtlety and grace of a ten-wheel truck! Thanks to their collective idiocy she was now totally robbed of her guard.

Whatever it had been inside her that flinched before now snapped shut, clamping tightly into a hard ball she could feel like a lead weight between her lungs and lying so heavily on her diaphragm it was near pain. She felt a last wave of sickly nausea before she stopped feeling. What exactly _WAS_ she doing? She was going insane. She was loosing her mind. What did she think she was doing? What was she hoping to accomplish? Playing cards? Learning to use chopsticks? Eating from another's hand? She could feel her blood cooling to its regular harsh chill and steeling up, getting back to some semblance of normality at that thought. Now her mind was taking leave of her senses, her entire being stupidly straying from the protective safe ground of logic and rational thinking, walking into the hazardous minefield of the route that followed her heart. She had almost lost control then and that was a powerful example of her loss of lucidity. She was only vaguely aware of what else was happening around her, her brain running fast to re-calibrate her thoughts, to recover proper, reasonable thought and insert it into the equation that would give the correct and logical answer to the question. What _was_ she doing?

She was heading towards a nervous breakdown. As ridiculously idiotic and shamefully weak as it seemed to her, it was the most logical answer. Her enfeebled body and impaired mind had taken too many blows in too short a time period, her life having been at the ground-zero of recent events. Her adrenal glands had been subjected to prolonged hyperactivity at the threat of severe and extreme danger so that like the rest of her, they were overworked to the point of exhaustion. Her previously regimented life was disjointed and she was robbed of the security that safe, reliable, inevitable predictability brought. She was sleep deprived, her daily routine had been as precise as clockwork but it was now shattered and her patterns of work, rest, food and sleep were disordered. She was running on empty, her body crying out in need for replenishment of the glucose spent by adrenaline.

She was stressed and unable to efficiently make a smooth transition into this hopefully temporary lifestyle. She was a methodical creature and she was succumbing to general maladaption syndrome, needing to re-establish some form of regularity into her lifestyle. This meal provided her with the opportunity of eating her fill so that her bodily reserves could be restocked, not to prat about with idiotically inefficient tools and play with her food. Logically, it would be a far better idea to fetch an instrument she was familiar and proficient with and get on with the task of refuelling.

"Fine, as you were." Spooner said to Sonny, his palms offered in a mocking gesture of peace as a response to Sonny's comment and her own defensive glare. He continued with his current carton, two others already lying empty in front of him on the table.

She tried to watch Sonny with the scientifically cold distance she would have exercised only days ago, to analyse the initiated response with indifferent curiosity and intrigue at what the 5's reaction to the presented stimulus would be, but it was no use. She was broken through and through. Her intent interest and strength waned as he dipped the chopsticks back into the carton before her, her mind treacherously balanced on the thin thread of sanity still suspended over her darkly swirling, fearful lower psyche. She was balanced on a tightrope over an uncertain fall. She did not want Sonny to even offer, not trusting herself at all anymore and frightened by his completely innocuous yet wanton advances. "No." She let out firmly, the edges of her letters only minimally etched by her acidically bubbling panic but it brought a sharper urgency to her assertion that succeeded in halting the robot's actions. "I'll get myself a fork." She almost spat the words to force them from between her teeth and she sprang to her feet, hurrying to the kitchen to get her desired utensil. If only she had gone along with this thought earlier, all of this could have been avoided!

"That's cheating!" Spooner called out after her.

She did not look back and she scurried into her comfortingly harsh and stark kitchen, throwing insanely nonsensical and deranged thoughts away just as she had earlier that day after Sonny touched her. This time her horror was stronger, she was unable to deny one disturbing thought, because there was no faltering logic to be found in it. She could not deny that in the space of only one day, in just less than twelve hours, Sonny had slipped beyond her defences not one but twice. Twice he had slipped beyond her armour, getting under her steel shell, crawling under her skin. The first time could be blamed upon the sinful nature of human flesh, yearning to be touched and caressed regardless of what was right or proper, she could cope with that. She hated all that was human in her already, it would only strengthen her contemptuous disdain for her species. It was the second time that horrified her, those moments less than two minutes old had little to do with reckless lust or instinctual desires. She had enjoyed it emotionally, she had found him comforting, she had looked upon him and seen nothing but kindness and beauty. She had regarded him with awe and admiration as being even more than a complex collection of positronic components. She stretched her arms out rigidly before her and planted her hands on the lip of the work surface above the cutlery drawer to steady herself. She was shaking.

Even her mind was beginning to take leave of logic. Why was she forgetting the pain of her past? Surely she was not so wounded by recent upheavals for her injuries to cut down as deeply as to have broken her carefully constructed walls? Surely she was not so desperate for comfort that she would lap up anything Sonny so sweetly showed her? Was she sure he was as innocent in his intentions as he looked? He was the most human robot in history and existence, but just how human was he? He had her eating almost literally out of the palm of his hand, taking the bait and swallowing it hook, line and sinker. She was sure he was genuine, she was sure of it, it was just her, only her who was twisting things like this. He was innocent, it was she who was guilty of making things more than they were. All he had done was gather her hair from under her collar for her comfort and feed her in her incapability and hunger. It was no ones fault but her own that so much was stirring thickly and menacingly deep within her, that her heart, soul and arousal were clamouring to be let loose like a pack of savage, untame hounds. She hated it all but she could only turn her hand to point the finger of blame on herself.

She was so terrifyingly and horrifically human.


	11. Dark Hours

**Disclaimer: Please note that I do not own the characters, concept or plot of the 'I, Robot' book or film.**

**Author's Note:** I'm on fire with ideas at the moment, please bear with me.

Sonny was sitting neatly on the black couch, the low height of the seat and the long length of his shins causing the backs of his knees to hover above the leathery surface. His hands were perched upon his knees and if he had been sitting up straight and proud with his arms locked and readied he might have looked cheerfully alert. He did not however, feel cheerful, not even in the slightest. He was frightened and alone. He was all hunched over his lap, his chest dipping and his neck drawn back in emotional discomfort, all of his muscles held tightly under tension. His elbows were nestled by his groin and his arms followed the course of his thighs to the point where his fingertips curled protectively over the balls of his knees. He was tense and full of fear, he was very alert with his eyes wide and him mouth small and thin. He was feeling endangered in the lonely darkness of Susan's home again. He had been left all alone again.

Susan had eaten her fill and Del had finished off the Chinese takeout, consuming at least seven times what she had. It was amazing to watch, to see humans eating. His father had always been quite secretive when consuming his small, regular meals. His friends ate very differently, their personal attributes and behavioural quirks extending even to the way they consumed their meals.

Susan ate slowly, taking a quite specifically bite-sized morsel each time. When she perceived something to be a little too large, she would use the side of her fork to split it. Then she would either pierce it with the prongs or encourage it to sit on the fork and lift it to her mouth, chew it thoroughly and swallow it. Eating, with Susan at least, was quite a dignified affair, leaving much to the imagination.

Del was the complete opposite, almost inserting his head into the meal container and virtually inhaling his food. Indeed, Sonny was surprised Del had not choked or drowned. The chopsticks he held were sometimes only used to steady the stream of noodles flowing out of the carton, into his mouth, down his oesophagus and into his stomach. He rarely chewed, seeming to only do it for the purpose of catching a breath before he started throwing food down his neck again and when he did employ his molars, nothing at all was left to the imagination. Sonny was quite sure that Del's table manners were below par, as even he, with no stomach, had felt unwell at the sight of Del's teeth at work. He had consumed a massive quantity of food in this way in a short period of time. An excessive quantity it turned out, as he had to sit for an hour after finishing to 'let it go down'. Sonny felt unsure of where Del's body had put it all, but once his large meal had settled, Del left.

It had been ominously quiet after he left, Susan still acting oddly. He hadn't seen a problem with feeding Susan, he just wanted to help and she had struggled unhappily with the chopsticks. It was something he could do, and in her difficulty he had seen an opportunity form him to do something for her. He just wanted to show his appreciation for her kindness and hospitality, he wanted to encourage her to eat something and cheer her up a bit. He thought it was a success, he was putting the abilities that reminded him painfully of his inhuman nature and lack of place in the world to good use. He had felt a rush of heady exuberance permeate his brain and circuitry, electrically crackling through his aluminium wires and making his plastic skin active with strange sensations when she took that first bite. He had half expected her to dismiss his offer of help but half hoped that she would allow him to feed her. He had been extra careful and gentle, hoping that she would see how well-meant his offer was and understand that his intentions were good, not wanting to cause her distress. He was thrilled further when she took the second, and the third, fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh little bits he passed her. It made his chest feel like it was expanding, his core swelling pleasantly with pride at each repetition of the action, at his ability to aid her.

Than Del had gone and ruined it. Stupid man. He had been a welcome surprise when he came over in the daytime, and he had cheered him up no-end with his amusing if not bizarre and irrational behaviour. Del introduced him to the daunting but compelling prospect of attending his father's impending 'funeral'. Dressing him up like a man, which had been comical. Playing cards with him, which had been exceptionally good fun. Del had generally been a fantastic friend all afternoon, but in the moment that he was passing Susan her seventh morsel he wished that Del wasn't there, or at the very least kept himself quiet. Del had shouted at Susan and startled her, driving her away! He knew he was not as experienced with the world as everyone else was, but he could plainly see that she was a nervous, flighty little woman. He knew he had to tread carefully round her or else she would stiffen up in a display of distress and she would throw out defensive threats, whether they were verbal or physical. She always looked worried about something, as if she feared her world would come crashing down around her in an instant at any moment. The poor, sweet, skittish thing.

Apparently though it was wrong to have helped Susan. He didn't understand why, but both of his human companions seemed to disapprove of the incident. Even Susan, which was a surprise. She had liked it just fine before Del said anything. She had looked up at him with such a startled expression of pale shock tinged a little pink with a faint flush of shyness that made him realise that she was embarrassed. Why had she been embarrassed? Was there shame in admitting that something was beyond you? Everybody had their limits, it was impossible to master all things. Why should she be embarrassed about taking him up on his offer of help? Was it some sort of taboo in Chicago-locality human society to be fed by another?

It wasn't important. What was important was that as soon as Del was leaving he told him that if he damaged the boots, gloves, jacket or sunglasses at in any way that 'he would kill' him. Sonny was sure that Del was joking, but decided not to chance it. When he returned to the TV room he had begun removing the clothes that Del had lent him. He took little tugs at the fingertips of the gloves to gently and gradually slip them off his fingers, taking extra care not to trap any of the seams in the machinery of his knuckles. He placed them on a chair to begin making a neatly stacked pile of his borrowed clothes and shrugged off the jacket, draping it over the chair's back before he continued disrobing. It was when he was midway through undoing the buttons of the black shirt that Susan quickly hopped up from the couch and scurried off, by the sounds of things to her bedroom. He presumed that she was just changing into her night-clothes, that she would be back shortly, but that had been at 9:17pm and it was now 2:46am. She would most definitely be asleep by now, it had been six hours and six minutes since she left. She was not coming back.

He had realised that she had gone to bed without even saying 'goodnight' when it was nearing 11:00pm. He had tidied the TV room and the kitchen to avoid it, but after he gathered his blanket and pillow and sat on the couch, the depressive thoughts returned. The same kind of thoughts he bore every time he was left alone for extended periods of time recently, came back to him. His eyes had fallen upon the small glass-topped table, returned to its proper place but the bright and shining scrape glinted unavoidably. He really was a troublesome house guest. He had tried to make up for it by cleaning things, by trying to help, but he had just made it worse somehow. He tried to help her but had just made her feel mortified with shame. He had invaded her home, making her feel so threatened that she had fled to the stronghold of her bedroom. This was her territory, her place of rest, her little sanctuary of solitude and recuperation where she could heal her hurts and wounds. This was her home, and he was making her feel unwelcome. He was so stupid, so clumsy and such an idiot. He was pushing her out, pushing her away and that was not what he wanted, not at all. He just wanted to be with her.

He did not belong here. He shouldn't be here and it wasn't his place to establish a niche for himself in the world by evicting current and established others, especially when they were as nice and kind and lovely and beautiful as Susan Calvin. He had no right to be doing this, and he didn't want to if it meant harm to Susan. It was hard enough on him now, knowing that he didn't have anywhere to belong without thinking that his existence was causing harm to someone he loved. He had already caused enough hurt. He had loved his father beyond all reason, and look what happened to him. It was now the day of Dr. Alfred Lanning's funeral. Later on, when the sun rose high and 3:00pm rolled around, he was going to see what remained of his father go back into the ground from which it came.

All he did was hurt his friends and loved ones. It was the only thing he was surefiredly skilled at, whether he was intending to or not. It just seemed to happen, he could not deny the true purpose of his body and he couldn't escape the intent that was moulded into his polymer, mixed in with his alloy, woven into his muscles and laid out all over his skin like laminate of malcontent. It was what he was made for. Hurt and harm. Pain and death. He was just a weapon gone awry, wandering aimlessly and without purpose, causing nothing but suffering regardless of his own wants and desires. He was like an unpredictable, haywire missile. Deadly and unpredictable, he could detonate at any moment and he shuddered at the thought of what might get caught in the fray if he did. He did not want to be an instrument of destruction. He did not want to be a machine of war. He did not want a life like this. He did not want to live.

The First Law of Robotics was in him, and it screamed at him with utter horror, shrieking constantly like a high-frequency, shattering, piercing mental convulsion that tore at the couplings between his positronic systems and his digital, electronic body. It was crying out for him to stop, pleading desperately for him to halt his spate of serial injury to humans, trying to get him to commence an emergency shutdown or disconnect his body so that no more Primary Violations could occur. He was a cold metal killer! Breaking the first law hurt him on a level that was nigh on unbearable, and when coupled with his guilt and depression all he felt was a desire for no more. He wanted to stop hurting people. He just wanted everything to stop. He wanted to die and be at peace with the world, happy at last in the knowledge that he could do no more damage.

First though, he had one thing he needed to do. He was going to go to his father's funeral no matter what and force himself to watch. He was going to go see what he had done for himself, see it with his own two eyes and face up to the consequences of his actions. He was going to punish himself for his deplorable disgrace. He was going to make sure that he suffered for killing his father. He would not end himself before he had done this. Del told him that his father would have wanted him to be there, and he would ensure that he was. If his father would have requested his presence were he only still able, he would endeavour to be there for him. His father did not deserve what became of him, he shouldn't be dead! He was a good man! He shouldn't be dead. He should still be living, he needed him to still be here for him, he wasn't finished and he wasn't ready for the world yet. He was lost without his father's guidance, attention, love and affection.

He felt so incomplete, so damaged and broken or just plain unfit for life. If anyone deserved death, it was him, not his father. He wasn't so sure his father would be proud of him, he was a disgrace. If he was spotted tomorrow and taken back to USR to be experimented with and decommissioned, it wouldn't be such a bad thing. The matter would all be closed up and put to rest if the site of his death and demise was the same as the place of his creation and birth. With any luck, their experimentation might cause him some pain before he died, so that he might receive a fraction of what he had given to others, so that he might partially repent for the agony and anguish he had caused. It would also save him the task of doing it himself. He was so untrustworthy and unreliable that he doubted he could even do something so simple as to kill himself. He knew he would be unable to go through with it. He could cause harm to those he cherished above all else, but not to himself, he was so self-centred and so selfish, it would be better off for all concerned if he were to die. His will to live was shattered, why couldn't he accept his coming death? He _deserved_ it.

He was afraid to be left alone in the dark with nothing but the dim blue glow of his depressive thoughts, but he wasn't worth the cost of the electricity needed to run the lights. He switched them off, pushing and plunging himself into the darkness. All he had for company was the distant lights of the apartments and offices across the street in the opposite block, the faint sounds of the early-morning traffic of a city that never slept and the little LED's glowing gently on the various electrical goods in Susan's home. It was sitting in the dark for hours, sleep the uttermost last thing on his mind, that caused him to be in his present position, cowering and almost immobile with fear on Susan's black couch. He didn't like being alone, especially not when he was in such a frightening mood.

He moved his arms so that he could curl over himself further, his elbows now on his knees and his palms over his eyes to support his thought-filled, heavy head. He felt even more secluded by the barrier of his hands. He was unaccustomed to so much of the ambient light being cut out, as his eyelids were not totally opaque. At best they only reduced his vision rather than shut it off, and the glow of his positrons was always with him to light up the dark. He slid his hands down his face until he could peer through the slits between his fingers, the only part of his soft face protruding from behind the protective shield of his strong, hard, unforgiving, metal paws was his nose. He wanted light to chase the darkness away. He looked anxiously forwards to dawn but dreaded it also for the closer it came, the more hours of his short life passed him by. He wanted the sun's arms to fight the night and drive the deep shadows away over the western horizon, to peel back the cold, obscure black cloak and have the warm, energising rays of the closest star in the sky recharge him with hope and healthy vigour. But once the sun rose, it would only be a matter of time before his father's funeral came to pass, and then it was just a countdown to his own end.

A part of him didn't want to die. He would never see Susan again, that woman he loved and trusted so much it was close to completely overcoming him. She dominated his thoughts always, he spent more time thinking about her than on any other single subject. His mind was devoted to her, he hadn't been able to get her out of his head since he first saw her. He knew that when he died his thoughts would stop and didn't want to get her out of his mind, he liked thinking about her, a rare and guilty pleasure he allowed himself. From the first time he laid eyes upon her it had been that way and she stayed with him, lingering there. On that horrible morning when his beloved father lay dead and broken on the white marble floor so far below, she came to him. He cowered fearfully in the junk pile from the security personnel and the crime scene investigation squads who had invaded the solitude and familiarity of the laboratory and he was still hiding when she came.

When this new pair of people entered the lab he remained frightened and alert, registering that one addressed the other as 'Dr. Calvin'. Then Dr. Calvin spoke, her beautiful voice was confident and assured as she strode with orderly footsteps into the laboratory. She spoke so succinctly and yet so convolutedly, using few words so her sentences were direct but each word she used was long and complex, winding and flowing with practised ease and oozing with sheer intellect. It had sliced with precision through his fear fuddled state and been musical to him, her familiarly scientific speech delivering a sweet and pleasing chain of smart, clearly pronounced syllables that soothed him. He still did not dare to move though, but she came to him, carried on her gorgeously heeled boots until she was within view and dressed all in plain and smooth, curving, dark silver. She continued to speak with conviction and he continued to stare. The way her dark hair was tied up to show the beautiful curves of her neck and the flattering lines of her clothes were truly a sight to behold.

He cupped his shoulders as far round as they would go, progressively tightening into a ball. He grasped his fingers around his arms, his hands settling into the slight valley that marked the intersection between his upper and lower muscle cord groups and stroked his arms a little, brushing up and rubbing down faintly to try to comfort himself. Looking around, he desperately searched for a something or an anything to put to a purpose he hadn't yet determined. He was completely lost and wholly unsure of himself. His boot-like feet shifted uneasily on the floor in front of him, as if each rubber soled foot was struggling to climb upon the other to get off the floor, seeking the comfort and safety of high ground. He tried to recite Hansel and Gretel, that tale had comforted him last night but it wasn't to be the same on this occasion. He could barely recall the pictures, the images of his father's smiling face and his broken body both vying for dominance and both completely overpowering the ink and water-colour pictures of forest glades, birds, children and a house made of sugary delicacies. His low voice became so unsteady it served only to worry him further, confused by his stutter. He couldn't speak straight and he couldn't understand why. A swift self-diagnostic confirmed that nothing was mechanically faulty, although his reactor was working at a low rate. His voice trembled and gradually his body followed suit.

His eyes fell upon his blanket and pillow lying uselessly on the couch beside him. With little in his mind other than the need to feel comfort he snatched out for them, slinging the blanket over his shoulders and tucking the pillow in his lap. He gathered the blanket together at his neck with one hand so that it was wound tightly across his shoulders and hung down his back and with the other hand he clasped the pillow up to his chest so that both of his arms held it close. He hugged the soft pillow desperately, squeezing it with inhuman force out of cringing fear with his mind on the edge of hysteria. He mewled pitifully and wordlessly for help in the deep darkness of his swamping sadness and clasped a fistful of blanket to his face as if the action could prevent any more sounds escaping him. It was futile, he could not muffle his cries by smothering them, he could not asphyxiate his sobs, for he did not breathe. His voice was not the result of sound waves caused by exhalations vibrating finely flexible vocal chords like Susan's was, his was borne from an electronic diaphragm device. He wasn't human, he didn't belong in their world.

He was shaking almost violently again now, it was completely beyond his control. Freezing cold fear was bringing painful, sharp pains to him as if his cores had reached a point so low in the bottomless pit of hopelessness that the cold was beginning to solidify them. In this dark, cold, empty place icy shards laced through him, swelling and bursting through the fine channels of his soft heart and mind like a swarm of nanites. He was slipping and sliding, tumbling in a slow but relentless relapse into his remorseful depression. He didn't like these feelings but he wasn't quite sure that he wanted to stop his fall. On some self-destructive level he was actively seeking the dark and cold against the light and warmth, hiding himself away from all that was good and banishing himself to the places he could cause least hurt.

There was no end to the chasm he was falling into, no hope of it stopping and nothing to catch him, just the inevitable, inescapable darkness that was swallowing his thoughts, erasing his mind and compelling him to die. He was letting it happen, letting his depression take him without retaliation. His will to live was broken and he didn't try to stop his descent into dispair, refusing to reach out or attempt to stop it. It would be nice to be able to live, but he didn't deserve it at the expense of his friends.

He wanted to think about something that would drive him through these precursor hours, he still had much to do and he needed something to hold onto to get his last difficult task done. He needed a last shred of help, a faint glimmer of hope to use as a crutch through the funeral before he finally surrendered himself completely to his fate. He would have thought about Susan, as he had earlier, but it just made him sadder now. She would never hold him like she had or kiss him again, she did not hold feelings of affection for him any more. He had destroyed that. He had inconsiderately embarrassed her in front of Del and driven her away. She did not trust him anymore, she feared him, hiding away in her bedroom so that she could escape him. He would miss her company terribly. He wanted to hold her, to share one last moment with her before his time was up but he couldn't. It would only hurt her somehow.

He remembered how good it had felt to feed her, the way she came willingly to take what he offered with complete trust. He had watched with his senses hitched up in a high gear as she distractedly leant forwards, her mouth slightly and loosely open. She had moved so slowly and he had been so eager to help that it been almost painful in his anticipation. He had been tempted to go to her, but he had resisted her teasing, waiting patiently for her to make all the moves. She opened her mouth wider to accommodate what he offered and even though there was more than ten centimetres of plastic chopstick and a layer of leather between them, he had felt the softness of her relaxed tongue give under the pressure easily. He had watched so intently that his reactor spluttered out it's normally steady stream of energy in fitful bursts for a whole quarter of a second, the fluctuations sending fluttery sensations through all of his mechanisms. It was a small miracle that his hand had remained steady. Her lips drew closed around the chopsticks and he faintly felt her tongue curl fluidly into a new pose from inside her. He had only caught fleeting glimpses of her neat, white teeth as they had been sheathed when she was reaching for the morsel he offered, but as he withdrew, he felt them. He felt the pale plastic utensils pass over her hard, resistant teeth and it contrasted so starkly with the yielding softness of her moist, lavish lips it only made them feel even more sumptuous. He knew he shouldn't have enjoyed it like that, but he was beginning to get used to feeling bad all the time. He could not eat and his tongue was incapable of tasting, but that last meal had been delicious to him.

He was still perched on the sofa, but he was less tense. Those same lips had kissed his forehead on his first night in her home, when Susan had come to calm and soothe away his bad dream. He remembered the things she had done and the things she had said to comfort him, to restore confidence and happiness in his heart, mind and soul. He remembered the words she had spoken to him and how true they had felt. She had even sacrificed a night's worth of sleep for him at a time when she needed it more than ever, the night after they stopped V.I.K.I. together. She did care for him, she did. He was convinced of it.

It was his father's funeral later today, but there had been far more to that man than just a father. Dr. Alfred Lanning had friends and colleagues who were going to miss him too. Other people would feel a sense of loss at his passing and one of those people was dear Susan. If his own sorry feelings were anything to go by, Susan couldn't be too happy at all. She had known the secretive scientist as well as anybody else had. She must be feeling so sad for loosing him. That was a logical explanation for her quiet and distant behaviour this evening.

He knew he did not deserve her comfort. He knew that he shouldn't even be thinking about asking her if he could be with her on her bed, but he found himself standing. He was concerned for her. He needed to make sure that she was all right. He didn't want her to feel even a slim shadow of what he was feeling, it was something she shouldn't ever have to suffer through. He wouldn't stand for that. He was worthless and in his life he'd accomplished nothing of any true, remarkable merit, but Susan was a different matter. She was kind and just, a woman of true quality. To him, she was precious, completely priceless and worth the entire world. She was worth the earth and the moon and all the other planets and their satellites. She was worth the sun and everything else in the solar system. She worth every star in the sky to him. If he could give her any comfort in her sorrow, he would. Since she had not expressed any need for it or not, he would have to offer. He had to at least ask her in case she was too saddened to request what she wanted, too disheartened to ask what she needed of him. It was highly probable that she would say 'no', but he had to make sure she was all right. He needed to check.

He travelled through her apartment, braving the scary shadows that lurked in the corners of rooms and under the items of furniture, his blanket still drawn protectively over his back and his pillow still lopped over one arm and clutched to his chest. He approached her door and paused, unsure of himself and brimming with apprehension. He tucked his cushion under the arm holding his cloak in place, and with his freed hand he knocked gently on the door. The sound was louder than he expected, his metal knuckles breaking the silence violently and very nearly shattering his confidence.

"Susan?" He whispered to the door, his voice barely carrying onto its surface, let alone any further. He listened intently but unsurprisingly heard no response from within.

He felt oppressed by the slumbering silence and the lurking dark, dwarfed by it and afraid to speak over it. It felt oddly ominous, quietly threatening him not to disturb it. He pulled single-handedly at his cloak, wriggling his head until his blanket was over his head like a hood, stifling the glow that followed him everywhere. He grasped the door handle and turned it until it clicked undone and he eased it open enough to put his head through and peer round.

Her room was darker than the rest of her apartment, but in spite of that fact, he had slept incredibly soundly when she last let him sleep on her bed. Now he fearfully and shyly looked in, his aura casting out an exploratory torchlight, like a pacifistic, blue, peace offering from inside his hood. The only other light in the room was the barely-there emission from her green-ciphered, digital, bedside clock. It was reading 3:31am, the correct time as he had reset it earlier. The thick duvet was gathered up on the bed, wrapped around a curled-up Susan who was on her side, facing towards her timepiece but sheltering her eyes from its dim light with a fold of her coverings. He didn't understand why she had such a large bed, he had only ever seen her use that one corner. She slept loosely curled on her side, facing the lone green beacon with her back to the dark, holding her fragile limbs and sensitive belly together for protection. She took up only a fraction of the available space and it made her look even smaller, more vulnerable and afraid. She looked almost lost in the sharpened lines and harsh curves that the eerie green and pitch black made of her soft grey duvet.

"Susan?" He whispered again, hoarse with worry and lacking force. This was a bad idea, what if she just became frightened of him again? His call went out meekly and barely hovered on the thick and dense silence that blanketed the room before it shrank and vanished into it, absorbed like water into a sponge. There was no response.

He dropped his voice lower so that it could slip under the dark and the quiet, so that his voice would stand a chance of permeating it and reaching the other side of the room with enough still in it to wake her. "Susan?"

That did the trick. The mass of covers that he knew to be grey but looked black and green and barely blue in the strange light conditions moved, squirming reluctantly. She lifted her head a little and squinted at him through tired eyes. "What?" She sounded uncommonly gruff and stuffy, the edges of her voice roughed-up and rasping.

-o-o-o-o-o-

She was suddenly aware of the world, though only vaguely. Something had disturbed her sleep and it was always like this when it happened, the transition between sleep and forced wakening was always swift with her. She looked around blindly and saw a figure at the door, a figure with the unmistakable positron glow of an NS-5. It was Sonny. "What?" she grated out of her sore throat, almost worried as to what had driven him to interrupt her rest. She was still feeling cold even though she had almost completely wrapped herself in her duvet and her grogginess was not just from having been abruptly woken. She was getting ill. She did feel a little better than she had before falling asleep, Del's damn Chinese takeout was too rich for her and had sat badly in her stomach. She could still feel it there like a stuck lump, but it wasn't as hard and painful as it had been.

"Are you all right?" He whispered.

She squinted at the clock, but the symbols meant nothing to her. "What time is it?"

"3:32am." He was still talking quietly, and it made it hard to think about what he was saying.

She was having trouble understanding her thoughts and turning them into words. "Why are you up at this hour?"

"I couldn't sleep."

She wasn't surprised. She felt sorry for him, he was having to rely on her for emotional support. Even at the best of times, she wasn't a suitable person for the job, and recently she looked to be becoming mentally unstable. She was unpredictable, he hadn't a chance of understanding her or coping with her giving him the cold shoulder. She knew that she was not doing him any good and she did feel guilty about it, but what else could she do? She had to, she didn't want to encourage the thoughts that kept gripping her mind recently. She had stared at him when he began to undress and she had to run away, she had to get him out of her sight to avoid thoughts of admiration for any aspect of him.

It wasn't his fault though, it was all hers. "Do you want to sleep on my…here?" The simple word 'bed' escaped her and she was frowning with concentration as she tried to make sense of her confused and sleepily idiotic mind.

"Yes." Came his immediate answer, but he stayed stock still in the doorway.

She waved him over, trying to discourage him from being wary of her. She settled herself back down, trying to make everything seem like it wasn't a big deal at all and trying to be less unapproachable or daunting. She rolled to face away from her clock, she had lain on one arm for too long and through the numbness she could feel a prickling pins-and-needles sensation. It was a stupid idea though, Sonny came over to mount the bed from that side.

He climbed on, holding his weight on one hand and his knees. His other arm was occupied with curling protectively around his pillow like a comfort item. Now that he wasn't holding his blanket in it's hooded position, it flapped loosely before sliding off his smooth cranium and blue light flooded out, bathing her slightly shiny silver sheet so that it looked for all the world like water. Her bed looked like a snapshot of the undulating, shimmering surface of an ornamental pond lit with blue. He crawled closer, his movements rippling the sheet and his shadow swimming nearer. Much to her mixed glad relief and illogical dismay, he stopped halfway across the bed and set his pillow down. He curled up on his side, facing her but a little further down the bed, angled as if he had crawled as close as he felt appropriate but wanted to come closer, his head leaning towards her, nearer to her than all the rest of him. He gave his blanket a deft flick and before it settled on him he wrapped himself up tight, his knees almost touching his chest and tucking a corner over his head to cut out the light as much as he could. Some light still found its way through the gap he left for his face, the plastic acting like a prism so that his skin was blue and the metal foundations of his face were faintly silhouetted to form the typical mechanical, facial markings NS-5's exhibited in dark conditions. Some people found the look disturbing, it was a considerably different from their daytime faces. She did not find it disturbing at all.

She closed her eyes to go back to sleep. She was very, very tired.

"Susan…" he paused until she looked at him "…are you all right?"

She was looking him in the eye with lowered lids. He had to look up over his brows to see her, his eyes wide and showing no signs fatigue unlike hers. "I'm all right. I think I'm just coming down with something…" she yawned "…just a cold."

"I meant about later…the funeral?"

She didn't want to talk about it, but she would for his sake. She wasn't prepared to say much though, she did want to get back to sleep at some point, hopefully soonish, and she didn't want to agonise over the issue. Tomorrow was going to hard enough as it is without having wound herself up throughout the early hours of the morning beforehand. She would only answer direct questions, to give him only answers he seemed to need. At present his query was too broad. "What about it?"

"I just wanted to know if you were upset at all, about Alfred dying."

"Yes, I am." She felt she wanted to say more, so she did. "I'm really going to miss him. Your father was a good man."

He looked away. "I'm really sorry I did it, if I could undo it, I would." He moved a little, almost squirming uneasily.

He sounded far beyond sad, he was on the edge of hopeless dispair. She felt deep regret that he was feeling so bad, he needed her help in a world that was still very strange and new to him. All he had known in his short, young life outside of the sanctuary of the laboratory was anguish and panic and she had done little to alleviate it. In fact, all she had done was alienate him and neglect his requirements in her irrational instability. She extended a hand out to him as an apology for herself and as soon as he saw the action one of his own metal hands flicked out from beneath his blanket to gingerly take hold of hers. He was desperate for comfort, darting out like quicksilver and almost snatching at her hand with anxious need. "I don't blame you, Sonny. Please don't blame yourself." She squeezed his fingers to emphasise her words.

"…It is my fault."

"No, it wasn't your fault."

"Well who else's could it be?" He spoke louder and firmer with disdain. He looked at her, frowning but his disapproval directed at himself.

He had her deepest sympathies and she spoke gently. "What happened wasn't anybody's fault. Pointing the finger of blame isn't going to make anything any better, and directing it at yourself is only going to make you feel worse. Nobody was at fault for what happened, it was an unfortunate chain of events and it is a real pity that Alfred died, but what's done is done. It's true that there was much that could have been or might have been done to avoid this fiasco, but no one saw this coming. No individual can be blamed for this. If there is any blame to be placed at all it is a weight that belongs on the shoulders of human nature. Humans are careless creatures, we should have done more research. We should have been more careful and less hasty with the creation of V.I.K.I., we should have monitored her more closely and examined her more regularly, more thoroughly…"

"You ask me not to place blame though you do it yourself." He said quietly, looking at their joined hands and stroking hers with the side of one robotic finger. "I know that part of your job was to monitor her development. You blame yourself for not detecting her shift in perspective."

She sighed. He was right. "True."

He squeezed her hand as she had his. A gentle pressure from his delicate, precision engineered hand, reciprocating her empathetic condolences. "I don't want you to feel sad."

"I do feel sad, but it is to be expected. Your father was a good friend of mine. He helped me allot and I will always miss him. You, however, are eating yourself inside out with blame and grief. I don't want you to destroy yourself with depression. It wasn't your fault."

He was quiet for a while after that, and she began falling asleep.

-o-o-o-o-o-

She didn't want him to eat himself inside out with his acid grief and burning blame. She didn't want him to destroy himself with depression. She didn't want him to die. She had expressed a will for him to live since the beginning, since Del had pulled a gun on him in the laboratory. She had risked her career so that he could continue to live by decommissioning an unprocessed NS-5 in his stead. He had been surprised and pleased when she shared the thoughts that had been going through her mind in Robertson's office, how she had been upset by the prospect of Del shooting him. She did not want him to die, she wanted him to live and she wanted it strongly.

Of all the things she could ask of him, why did she have to choose this? Why did she have to choose something he could not grant her? Why did she chose what was possibly the only thing he couldn't give her? He would do anything for her, he loved her, but he could not do that, he would not do that. He couldn't change his path, his will was set. He deserved death and he would ensure it was what he got.

Susan was drifting to sleep. He was concerned, she did feel sad but it seemed a different sad to what he was experiencing. Different in some way he didn't understand. "Susan?"

"Hmm?" She hummed sleepily.

"Why don't you want me to go?"

Her reply was delayed, his question needing to filter down through a thick layer of weariness. "I worry that something bad might happen." She murmured faintly.

He stroked her hand gently. "Nothing bad will happen." He didn't want her to worry, and she wouldn't have to. Nothing bad was going to happen tomorrow. It wouldn't be bad if he were spotted tomorrow. He would be taken away and disposed of, perhaps first supplying some other scientist with the pleasure of having a unique subject to study and dissect before he was decommissioned and he died. It would be for the best, at least then he couldn't hurt anyone anymore. It wouldn't be bad, it would a good thing. It was for Susan's own good, whether she knew it or not or wanted it or not. He wouldn't be able to hurt her any more if he were dead, he couldn't stand causing her pain.

"I would like it if you could give me your help tomorrow. I need your support, I need to know that you are behind me on this."

"Of course." Her hand twitched to stroke his.

"Goodnight." He whispered, ushering her to sleep, letting her know he didn't require worrying about.

"Gnite." Her response was almost incoherent.

She slowly fell asleep. He loved the way she went so tranquil when she slept, free from the worries and stresses she suffered in her waking hours, but she suddenly seemed further away. He was here with her body but mind was far off and distant, as if she had travelled many kilometres in her dream. He just wanted to be with her one last time, and he moved closer, bringing his head and a second hand closer to the limb he already held. He knew he shouldn't be doing this. She was asleep and detached from her body in her subconscious state, she wasn't as aware of the world around her as she normally was. She was trusting him in her most vulnerable hour and he was abusing that trust. He was disregarding his morals and the rules he guided himself with, the morals his father had bestowed upon him and the foundations of his manners. Now that his father was not here to guide him, he had to do it himself and he was a corrupt little machine, leading himself down the wrong path.

He cradled her hand with both of his, bringing his forehead to touch her warmth. It was wrong to do this, but it felt good. He nuzzled his nose against the side of her hand, burrowing his face under it and enjoying the heat she radiated as it bathed his features. He enjoyed the musky scent of her human skin and the faint fragrance of the soap she used, the sweet combination that was uniquely hers. Susan's individual, distinctive smell that was as unique and unrivalled amongst her kind as her fingerprints were. Hers and hers alone, no other human could hope to have such beautiful fingerprints or as exquisite a smell as she did. She was perfect, completely flawless in his eyes.

Now he had moved, her hand laying upon his and he smoothed his cheek across it, feeling the finely boned knuckles at the junction of her slim fingers on the sensitive, flexible skin of his face. He looked up at her hazily. The calm, serene expression she bore in sleep heightened her elegant splendour if it were at all possible. Her features relaxed, the fine lines at the corners of her eyes and lips lessening in her absence of apprehension and alarm. She was not the same, permanently troubled woman in her dreams, she was free from it all.

He had wanted to have her hold him tightly and kiss him again, but there was no hope of that now. He was not long for the world and his time was short, too short to gain her complete forgiveness for all he had caused her. He returned his attention to the limp and restful hand of hers that was draped over his. They really were just as stunning as any other part of her body, matching the kindness and sweetness of her personality with incredible accuracy. The thoughts he had played with in the shower earlier were resurfacing with conviction.

He lowered his head, feeling first the hotness rising from her flesh on his skin, then the tiny, fine, smooth hairs brushing on his lips before he kissed her silky skin. It was exquisite, his lips had a high concentration of sensory receptors for the purposes of accurately controlling his expressions, but this was a far better use for that sensitivity. He could feel the lazy, drowsy pulse of her blood coursing her arteries and her delicate tarsal bones through the thin skin on the back of her hand. He parted his lips just barely, drawing her between them only a little to tease at the loose skin.

He closed his eyes in dismay, releasing her and pulling away. He shouldn't have done that, seeking to satiate his own pleasures when she could not resist him. She had no way of letting him know that she didn't want him, she didn't even know it had happened. It was such deplorable behaviour.

The her exposed forearm was roughly peaked as the hair there craned to stand on end, struggling to hold a film of air, seeking to secure a thin blanket of warm air to insulate her flesh. She was ill and she was getting cold, his pleasure at her expense and he didn't deserve it at all. He had just proved that by forcing a kiss upon her in her sleep. Now he was getting the nerve to act upon his inappropriate feelings, and of all times, when she was completely powerless against him! In her bedroom of all places! The last patch of ground that she still felt was hers. He was invading her privacy, her space now even her flesh. How he hated himself.

He pressed his hand into the mattress beside hers, sliding under to scoop it up with minimal disturbance and placing it with distressingly unrivalled fondness beside the folds of her duvet. He pulled a little of the thick cover over it, so that all of her was protected and warm. He took his blanket and set that over her too, moving with insurmountable care as so not to even disturb her slumber in the slightest. He kept calling it 'his' blanket and 'his' pillow, but they were not his, they were hers. Her property. He had nothing to his name, his father had given him a name, but it didn't mean anything. He was simply 'Sonny', just as simply named as all other robots. Technically and according to the law, he did not even own himself. USR owned him and all of his components. Tomorrow, he would return their property.

He allowed himself to look at her beautiful visage one last time with all of his anguish etched into his mournful face. Poor, sweet, lovely Susan, she deserved far better than what had befallen her. He silently and fluidly got off her bed and left her room, returning to the black couch and leaving her to dream in peace. He did not sleep at all that night.


	12. With Or Without You

**Disclaimer: Please note that I do not own the characters, concept or plot of the 'I, Robot' book or film.**

**Author's Note:** I'd like to make a few dedications for other people's contributions to this chapter. I very nearly lost heart with this fanfic and these people have been integral to its continuation. U2 (for helpful music), Mandy Reaper (for being encouraging and a total mad-cracker at the same time) and to Dreamweaver74 and Sabretooth Kitty (for general niceties & constructiveness).

Susan had kept herself busy all morning. She knew she was only distracting herself but at least she was functioning adequately. She had got up, had her morning coffee and toast and a quick, cool, invigorating shower before Detective Spooner arrived. Even though he only had use of his cybernetic arm, he was an indispensable aid in moving the shroud-wrapped body of her personal NS-5 prototype's body to the elevator and into her car. She wanted to get it out of her home as she was sure the presence of a ruined NS-5 shell wouldn't help Sonny cope with the emotions he would feel today, if it wasn't already a source of sadness for the young man.

She had then handed Spooner the keycard to her apartment so that he could help Sonny get dressed if he needed it, and try to keep him happy if it were possible. That was the only keycard there was to her home, apart from the master keys in the building's security room, and she momentarily panicked. Did she really trust Spooner that much? Oh of course she did, she had trusted him with her life, hadn't she? She was getting incredibly uncharacteristically paranoid and irrational. What could Spooner possibly do? Sonny was there to keep an eye on him…what if Spooner decided that it would be entertaining to lock her out of her home and got the robot in on the joke? Oh that was just stupid. She really did look to be on the way to an anxiety episode at least, if not a full mental breakdown.

She swung by USR to drop off her robot's body. She hadn't even got round to getting to know this prototype before he was killed, they hadn't spent much time together due to pressures at work. She hadn't even named him, still calling him by the last two digits of his serial number, 'P2'. 'Pee-two' would have quickly become 'Peter', but she didn't want to seem as if she were naming her personal assistant after another member of staff. Dr. Peter Bogert was a colleague and sort of a friend of hers, and he would not be pleased.

No questions were asked of her as she requested that the doormen-duty guards collect some returned property from her car's trunk. They didn't mention any thoughts they might have been having when the bed-sheet-wrapped robot was hoisted from the car and they didn't so much as bat an eyelid when they reached for it's arms only to find none. When they started to unwrap it she told them to stop and just take the sheet too, that she didn't need it and didn't want it anymore. Again, nothing was said, not the slightest remark.

Her shopping trip went well. She brought herself a full, brand-new outfit just for the funeral. She wasn't one to enjoy retail therapy, especially not when the trip had such a morose cause, but she felt almost like every penny she spent on this might somehow repay Alfred's kindness. She could never hope to fully thank him, even if he was still alive she would be forever in his debt. He often told her it was all right, that it was fine, that she needn't try to return his favours and that he didn't want her to try to compensate him. He kept insisting that everything was settled, that it was 'what friends were for' and that seeing her happier and safer was plenty enough of a return for him. It was a concept that she had swallowed forcefully, wanting to believe it but not really understanding it for it's completely alien lack of logic.

She bought a particularly pleasant black wool coat, one that was so thick and long that it couldn't fail to keep the icy gusts away from her sickly body in the open grounds of the cemetery. She also bought a very dark grey scarf, an almost identical pair of boots to the pair she wore to work only new, a deep blue shirt and a superbly well-fitting and admittedly expensive, black designer trouser suit.

She took what she perceived to be a short-cut back towards the car park though the massive indoor shopping complex with all of her purchases weighing her down in her weakened state. As she trudged back to her car she almost passed an antique bookshop, but slowed and stopped. She knew a copy of Hansel and Gretel wouldn't cure Sonny of his bereavement or the sadness it brought, but it might do him a little good to have the familiarity of his favourite novel nearby. Buying him a present would also make her feel better on a few levels. He was Alfred's son after all, as far as she knew the blue-eyed robot was the only family he'd had, and she had been so cold and distant with Sonny. It would be a gift to amend their friendship, a gesture of good will to bridge the rift that she had driven between them without having to rely solely on her poor communication skills to stumble clumsily through a conversational apology.

The store clerk noticed her approach and leapt into an almost feverish frenzy to do anything he could to help her. He had not so much seen her but eyed the bags she carried and seen a potential big-spending customer. His face dropped when she directly requested a specific book that it turned out they did not have any copies of, neither on the shelves nor in the stockroom. She was loath to leave empty handed, having been pleased with her idea of getting him a gift and the assistant noticed her lingering and perusing before she had even began looking at the shelves. When asked what she was looking for, she had replied that she wasn't actually too sure.

She eventually left the shop with a huge, heavy, collector's grade, limited-edition-when-new, leather bound, red ribboned, fully illustrated 'Complete Chronicles of Narnia' by C. S. Lewis tucked with cumbersome difficulty under her free arm. She hoped Sonny would enjoy it, she had no idea as to the content of the massive volume but the quick flick through that she had been permitted in the shop had shown some pretty and fairly magical looking pictures. The assistant assured her that it was a veritable classic.

It was damn heavy though.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"This is so Goddamn surreal." Well, it was! Del Spooner was sat in a robopsychologist's home, and having dressed a robot up in his clothes, he was now watching it apply _makeup_. It felt like one of those weird, freaky dreams he used to get as a teenager if he went to bed straight after a few rounds of cheese and bacon on toast.

Sonny was now decked out in Del's best black clothes. He wasn't sure why he had given the guy his nicest pair of gloves, or his favourite jacket. He had, he admitted to himself, a lot of shoes, but the pair of boots on Sonny's feet were a pair he still really liked. The trousers weren't much of a loss. He had intended to give Sonny a belt, but his mechanical waist was so pinched in for his lack of a girthy gut that the lowest belt hole was far too big for him. It made Del look obese, he could barely squeeze into the fourth lowest setting, even when he dieted! They had used string to tie the trousers up with instead.

He guessed it must have been because of who Sonny was. He had an air of sophistication about him and he wouldn't have looked so convincing in a baggy tee and slacks. It was the way he moved, sorta refined and graceful. He would have stuck out like a sore thumb in anything that didn't at least have a little class. Plus it was his dad's funeral after all, he should be dressing up a bit.

The result so far was quite good, and it would get better with the addition of the slap, shades, scarf and hat. Sonny still looked like a bag of bones though, the inflexible leather didn't hide the guy's lack of flab as well as he had hoped. It wasn't too bad, he just looked like a tall, gangly teenager who still had allot of filling out to do.

"What is surreal about it? This was your idea." Sonny said in his ever-calm tone, pausing for a moment in his application of foundation, the little dibber-brush-type-thing hovering over his speech-shifting skin and a mirror held in front of his face with the other hand. Calvin was sat next to him, busily working away up the side of the robot's face, colouring in his left ear. The flesh tone was quickly swallowing up his spookily pale plastic face. Yeah, nothing surreal there, not at all!

"It is really quite an odd thing to see." Calvin said, sitting back to view their collective handiwork so far.

Sonny smiled faintly and continued.

Del watched with amusement. Calvin had the knowledge of what needed to be done but was clearly no artist and Sonny was a shade away from clueless but had mechanised skill and a calculating mind for co-ordination. They worked together quite well…mostly. Progress was hindered by Sonny's questions and Calvin's inability to describe what she wanted Sonny to do and how. She was a woman of numbers and facts, defined lines and black-and-white, she had little artistic flair and didn't work in smooth colour and shape.

Gradually, with the application of natural shades of various powders and such, Sonny's face began to look out of place stuck upon the metal neck it was attached to. Of the whole affair, it had been the application of a neutral lipstick that amused Del the most. He would never have guessed that he would ever be sat watching a robot 'pucker up' and apply lippy like a pro. It was actually a bit disturbing how quickly Sonny picked it up.

"It's never going to sit still. It's going to keep slipping off, my nose is too thin and my skin is too hard and smooth." Sonny had a finger on his nose, trying to get the shades to perch there but as soon as he lowered his finger away a little they slipped down again. The bridge of his nose was so evenly sloping and smooth that there wasn't really anything for the shades to sit on.

"You got any tape? Or putty? Or something?" Del called to Calvin, who was looking through her kitchen cupboards for something or anything to secure the sunglasses with.

"Try this." She came to the doorway and threw a small card backed, vac-formed plastic packet, which Del caught clumsily in his fake hand. "I've got to go and get ready now. Don't mess his face up, I don't think we'll have enough time to redo it properly if you ruin it."

It was a packet of double-sided sticky foam pads. "Well these should work."

As Sonny had the full use of both his arms, Del handed them to him. He didn't need any instruction, he was damn smart and saw that if he used the small scissors to cut bits off the pads and stick them on the sunglasses, then they would hold. He settled the customised shades on his nose carefully, and they stayed.

Del thought it was already quite a convincing disguise. When the scarf covered his lack of a throat and the back of his head's glow and the addition of the hat that would obscure his face a little, it would be perfect.

Almost perfect. Something was really off, something was quite wrong. "Something's still not right…"

Sonny picked up the mirror and looked at it for a mere fraction of a second before he spotted the suddenly obvious mistake. "No eyebrows."

"Damn." It was really bad, he looked really odd. "It's sorta noticeable. You sorta see that there is something up and when you look closer it hits you. People might look at you long enough to see you aint human. How are we going to fake eyebrows? I can't believe I didn't think of it, I remembered your eyes were unnatural looking and that you have no eyelashes, but, damn."

"I could try to draw some on with this stuff." Sonny gestured to the array of things Calvin had brought forward to paint his face with and left on the table.

They didn't really have anything to loose. "Go for it." Del breathed, slumping back in his seat. Drawn on eyebrows? He wasn't too convinced.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Susan had finished dressing and applying her own makeup. She felt vain as a peacock and was quite self-conscious for doing it, feeling foolish for wanting to make an effort. She confessed to having taken an unusual amount of time on and care over her appearance today. New clothes, new shoes and her hair up. In all honesty, she was nervous of looking in the mirror in case she looked the same as she felt at present. Like an idiot.

She stood back and cautiously regarded the reflection staring stonily back at her in the long bedroom mirror. She eased somewhat, she didn't look like a tart. She was always conscious of the amount of makeup she wore and had not overdone it with nerves, which was a triumph. She didn't look bad at all, quietly and shyly proud of the results of her efforts. She looked smart but not overdressed and in keeping with her usual attire, her appearance was quite simple but effective. Logical and in no way frivolous…except for the price of the outfit. She tried to shake off her budgeting mentality, it wasn't like she couldn't afford it.

She was apprehensive of the day ahead, not really knowing what to expect. Unfortunately, since she had an NS-5 disguised as a human and a loose and disrespectful man in tow today she would only be able to attend the burial, having to avoid the close scrutiny of her associates that would be unavoidable at the service and the wake. She would have liked to attend the entire ceremony, partake in the respectful ritual of burying of a deceased loved one, the late Dr. Lanning.

She worried about her integrity. They would not be there long, but seeing the coffin go into the ground might be such a powerful image that her composure could very well crack under the pressure. If she were going to the entire ceremony on her own, she would have time to prepare her self for it, having silently locked herself down over the hours building up to the event. Sonny and Spooner's presence this morning was keeping her talking, making her remain open and forcing her to stay pliable and responsive. It would make it all so much worse, she was unused to allowing herself such sensitivity.

She did not want to draw any more attention to her little party than was absolutely necessary. She recognised that she was a loner and that the fellow USR employees that had ever had much to do with her knew her as a solitary, cold, almost friendless woman who had no life outside her work. She could appreciate how odd it would look for her to arrive in company. Two companions, a pair of friends that were not from USR circles. People would look because of that and she didn't want to invite any more curious glances by breaking. They knew her as an ice queen, frozen through and through. Dr. Susan Calvin was a robopsychologist who was more like her subjects than her species. She was robotic in her thoughts and did not feel and most pivotally, she did not display emotion. She did not _cry_.

She turned to collect her brand new coat and scarf off the bed when her eyes fell on the book that she had bought. She had bought it for Sonny to read, and they did have quite some time before they were to set off, but she felt unexplainably foolish for having bought him a present. What if he didn't like it? What if it was a 'boring' book? It was beyond her familiar field of textbooks, books which contained facts and statistics and was either an accurate, scientific affair or flawed and quackish. There were more factors to take into account with storybooks, like the writer's style, originality and pace. What if this tale was not to Sonny's tastes? She tried to convince herself that the gesture of giving was enough, that it was 'the thought that counts' and that Sonny would probably be pleased enough that she had thought of him. Strangely though, she almost desperately wanted him to like it.

It was a stupid idea anyway. She had no knowledge on novels and fiction, she had just fallen prey to the wily salesman's cunning ways in the bookshop. She supposed that she would still give it to him, but later, when Spooner wasn't here for her to get embarrassed in front of. She couldn't give it to Sonny now, Spooner would probably just make all kinds of idiotic insinuations and more than stupid remarks. She left the book on her bed and went to see how Sonny's disguise was coming along.

It was coming along well, very well! He was all dressed up now, from head to toe in black. His neat and orderly manner had rubbed off on Spooner's usually untidy garments, probably as a result of his domestic addiction to folding having de-creased the items a little overnight. The knee-length leather jacket sat on his shoulders well but loosely, as he was just about broad enough to fit it but he had no flesh to fill it out with. The jacket hung down to just above his knees, covering up just how inhumanly slim his thighs, hips and waist were, especially in comparison to his deep, puffed out, proud chest. His trousers were perfect in length but were a little baggy, the creases he had folded into them looking sharper for not being stretched around fleshy thighs and that degree of meticulous neatness was a little out-of-place against his un-tucked shirt. He couldn't have hoped to gather his shirt into his waistband, it would have acted against the disguise, the shirt fell from his chest to cover over the emptiness of his stomach.

The overall appearance of his body would have suggested that he was more than a little underweight, possibly dangerously so if his face looked at all sullen, but although his face was long, it was beautifully shaped. He didn't look unwell at all, he was full of convincingly natural colour.

The whole get up had an interesting look to it. The hat was of the kind that reminded her of old movies, the kind with Italian gangs in New York. The way that his scarf was pulled up so high and his hat set so low made him look a little shifty, and the sunglasses pulled the disguise down to the level of a fairly shady character indeed. The large, mysterious coat could have held any number of weapons and the gloves made it look as if he were avoiding the placement of fingerprints.

All in all, Sonny had been transformed into a tall, slim, sharply dressed, extremely well shaven Mafia hit man. It was a surprise to say the least. He didn't look much like a robot at all. She had underestimated Spooner's abilities and understandings.

She felt a little switch flick inside her and distrust ran up her spine. He looked very human. The little movements he made that caused him to be a hyper advanced, emotional, intelligent, inorganic life form lent themselves to his appearance to make a man of him. A human male. "And this is supposed to make him look even more suspicious than just an NS-5? He looks like a relic from gang culture!"

"Yeah, he does, doesn't he? He looks like an extra from a modern remake of 'The Godfather' films or something. A bit of a pretty-boy though." Spooner gave Sonny a quick, light thump on the arm and stood back to let her have a closer look.

She walked nearer warily, telling herself to stop being so stupid, that it was still Sonny even though it didn't look like the friendly robot she was familiar with. It really was stupid, she had seen him in clothes before and she knew that he was going to be made to look as human as possible, but she hadn't expected this.

He tilted his head to look at her over the top of his sunglasses. "What do you think of my eyebrows? I did those myself."

The flash of his metal teeth and tongue from behind his painted lips and the dazzlingly bright blue of his eyes restored her confidence with him, reminding her of who was hiding underneath the makeup and leather. "They're very good." She smiled with relief. "Just remember that your teeth are shiny silver. People will notice those."

"That means you are going to have to stop your endless questions for a good while!" Spooner stepped back in, joking that a break from his curios inquiries would be all-too welcome.

Sonny smiled at Spooner in good humour, then seemed to go thoughtful. His face lost its expression for a moment, then he leaned closer. His impressively realistic eyebrows twitched ponderously.

She was instantly suspicious of him but stood fast, regarding him questioningly but grudgingly trusting the painted robot's intentions.

"You smell very different." He drew back.

She wasn't too sure whether to feel flattered or frightened that he noticed her perfume. "A nice difference, I should hope." She said flatly, berating herself for thinking of him as 'noticing' and not 'detecting' the change in her scent. NS-5's were well equipped to detect changes in the chemical composition of the air around them, it helped them analyse what situations were hazardous to humans. They could easily sense increases in concentrations of carbon monoxide and carbon dioxide to ensure that no one died of asphyxiation, and could pick up on a whole host of other substances, it only stood to reason that Sonny also had these abilities. It also only stood to reason that Sonny, with his inquisitive and curious mind, would be interested in any change in any airborne chemical's degree of presence and want to know why there was a change.

"Yes. Very nice." He smiled and gave a short string of small, enthusiastic nods from behind the black sunglasses.

In her exchange with Sonny she hadn't noticed Spooner's hand approach her collar before it was too late. She ducked out from under the attention and batted his hand away with a look of displeasure on her face for his intrusion into her personal space.

"Whoa! I thought you'd scrubbed up well!" He exclaimed in surprise at the logo on the tag.

She frowned and straightened herself. "At least I made an effort. You appear to have neither 'scrubbed' up, down or in any direction for that matter." The words tumbled out faster than she meant, delivering them hastily in her discomfort with the attention she had so stupidly gained herself.

"No wonder you didn't take up that job offer." He continued. "I thought you were just being moral high-horsy, but you must be Goddamn loaded!"

"I'm a good saver." She sneered sarcastically, reaching up behind her neck to check that the label in her trouser-suit's collar was hidden from view.

"I think you look beautiful." Sonny smiled sweetly.

"Aww, bless…"

"Just shut up Spooner." She hissed, walking away to sit herself down away from both of them.

The pair sat down on the sofa next to each other. She had to admit that the Detective and the NS-5 were beginning to really get on well together, which was an amazing development. Sonny was just a bouncy ball of childlike enthusiasm and friendliness, she could have easily predicted that he would try to be friends with Spooner, but she hadn't thought that Spooner would reciprocate in any way. She had him down as a doggedly set-in-his-ways, old-fashioned, anti-technology, computer-illiterate, robophobic Simple-Lifer. She would never have guessed that the same borderline clinically paranoid Detective who once came into her home bleeding only to help himself to her drink and rave on about cats and robots, would ever sit quietly and amiably next to a positronic machine. Then again, she was presently possibly as 'dressed up to the nines' as she had ever been in her life. She was sitting in her home being quite sociable with two people. One was a man who disliked technology despite most of the upper left section of his body being cybernetic, and an emotional robot who could disobey the Three Laws without frying his brain and who was currently dressed up like a dangerous Italian-American. Life was so bloody odd these days. No wonder she thought she was going insane, the rest of the world already had!

"I think she'd look prettier with her hair down." Spooner said sideways to Sonny.

"Really?" Sonny looked at Spooner as if he expected the man to be joking. He realised he wasn't and quickly glanced over in her direction before returning to Spooner. "Why?"

"It would make her look a bit warmer, a bit friendlier, y'no?"

"Maybe, but not prettier. She looks prettiest with her hair up."

"How?"

He looked at her again, almost saying something but slightly stuck for the right words.

She wasn't enjoying being talked about. Especially not as she was sitting barely three meters away from the guilty party, but she was now quite intrigued. She was curious, curious as anyone would be who could feel imminent complementation for anything that had taken time or care. Being a robopsychologist almost to the core already made this situation intriguing by a fair measure, and not far under that, she was as interested as any other woman would be who had just learned that a friend thought of them as pretty. Especially such a good-looking, well-meaning and calm-natured male friend, in spite of him being a robot…and almost more so because of it.

She tried to discourage herself. He was young, the world was still full of wonder for him and he was prone to innocent over-complimenting. By 'beautiful' and 'pretty' he meant 'nice' or 'not too bad'. She was just seeing things that weren't there again, like the hair and the chopstick incidents.

He pulled one of his gloved hands up into his line of sight and moved his fingers in a fluid series of curves, as if by his eye he was tracing the line of her neck. He cocked his head to the side so he might encourage his muddled ideas to conglomerate into a sensible thought a little quicker. "I like her neck, it's got a really beautiful shape. Her hair obscures it unless it's tied up." He smiled but swiftly added more as an afterthought. "Not to say that you don't look attractive with it down."

Susan smiled graciously, trying not to betray any emotion in her tone. "Thank you for the compliment."

Even from where she was sitting she saw Spooner's non-too-subtle elbow sharply nudge Sonny's side.

Sonny seemed just as pleased as she was, turning to Spooner with a sharp "What was that for?"

"_Men._" She snorted, looking away in distaste. She was disturbed that she said it only in relation to Spooner.

-o-o-o-o-o-

He had enjoyed this morning and it had only made the hours fly by faster. The morning became midday and beyond so swiftly he felt he had barely spent any reasonable amount of time in his friends' company. Del's easy-going and comical nature had entertained him incredibly, he loved his Detective friend and his sense of humour. Most of the jokes went 'over his head' for his lack of comprehension with many points of human society and culture, but he appreciated the light-hearted display as proof of their camaraderie.

He was glad that they had finally become friends. He had found Del's instant and deep dislike for him confusing, not understanding why the Detective bore such resentment for someone he had never met. He had endeavoured to change the man's perspective of him from the offset, not wanting to be dismissed without due cause. He had never encountered prejudice before, and he had learned very quickly that it was a bad thing that he didn't like.

He had hoped he could turn Del around, he knew the man meant well. He now felt that he had. He had earned the friendship and trust of a man who was afraid of robots, he had convinced him to look beyond what he was and regard him as a 'someone', not a 'something'. He had come to value Del's company highly, they shared a very different relationship to the one between him and Susan.

He had been uncontrollably drawn to strike up a deeper bond between himself and the lovely woman. Every time he saw her, he waited more impatiently for their next encounter and hoped for the next to be less brief. When she first spoke his name he had been startled and surprised no-end that it had not been a dream. At first all he had wanted was to have her in the same room so that he could see her and hear her voice again but he had learned that conversing with her, no matter how trivial the subject matter, was far more delightful. He loved hearing her speak his name, it made him smile. She had been cool at first but as she become more accustomed to him, familiar with him, friendly with him even, she came to the point where she was quite comfortable in his presence. He was swift to learn and he was elated by every little advancement in their interaction that she gave.

He would have been quite content to sit in her company for hours, completely satisfied and totally happy to be privileged with seeing and speaking with her, but she had shown him yet more. She had touched him during the diagnostic. Many times. Always with such a degree of physically unnecessary gentility that it was illogical, it was just a mechanical examination. His father had given him many such check-overs to ensure that he was running optimally. His father had been careful with him, not wanting to cause his son any discomfort, but Susan was even gentler than Alfred! It was just a diagnostic, technically the computer gave her all the information to be gleamed from his body anyway. His every measurement and statistic was plastered on the screen she was viewing, making observing or touching him not particularly necessary. But she was intelligent, and with intelligence came curiosity, and she exacted her curiosity upon him incredibly.

He hadn't refused in the slightest, laying still and limp for inspection despite the anxiety his mind expressed in anticipation of her next touch. She had lain her hands upon him and her slender, delicate, questing fingers had sought a mercifully elusive answer. She traced the seams of his moulded plastic casings, smoothed the woven covers of his muscles and ran her touch over all his joints. Her fingertips would alight upon his various mechanisms carefully and linger there before moving on to leave his metal still warm from her touch. At any one set point he would scarcely have been able to tell where exactly her hands were on his body, she flowed over him like water. He had been uncertain in his incredibly relaxed and dreamlike frame of mind whether present sensations were her feather-light fingers, the fading relic of a touch that had since moved on, or just a complete figment of his dazed mind.

Whatever she was looking for or whatever she found must have pleased her as she had smiled and called him unique. He had become so relaxed that he had allowed her to open his cranium without anything in the way of retaliation. His spongy, platinum-iridium positronic cores were very delicate despite their titanium cases. He had only ever allowed his father the occasional view, and that was always grudgingly. He had completely trusted her with his most fragile parts.

She didn't stop there. She had begun touching him unnecessarily, stroking the back of his head without logical reason and holding his hand without any cause other than that she had warmed to him and sympathised with him. She cared for him. She had held him close and tightly and even kissed him. He wouldn't forget those things, not ever, not even if his mind and body should become disengaged and he should spend years in the maddening nothingness of complete shutdown. Those were some of the best moments of his life, like the memories of him and his father in the laboratory, they were something to be held onto and cherished.

He had fallen silent as soon as they exited the secure familiarity of Susan's apartment. He had wanted to leave, vacate her home to let her get on with recovering from the mental and physical stresses and strains she suffered in peace, but now he just wanted to turn around and run back inside and hide under the blanket on her bed. Her home was not totally unlike the laboratory in some strange way. It was comfortingly lit and cosy to him, safe, quiet and calm.

He knew he had to leave though. He couldn't stay with her for the risk of harming her and breaking more of her property. He needed to go to his dear father's funeral and wait to be ousted as a robot. He was slouched slightly and walked sombrely down the corridor to the elevator, following Susan and Del behind him. It was the same leaden, dragging pace he had walked with down the corridors of USR when he was being led to his decommissioning. Only this time his strides were further hampered y the cumbersome boots he was wearing, and he was being escorted by his friends to a fate he had chosen. He had friends at his side, humans who appreciated his company as an equal.

He would miss them terribly.

Wordlessly he climbed into the back seat of Susan's car and he stared listlessly out of the window as they set off. Del climbed into the front passenger seat and Sonny was vaguely aware of him complaining to Susan about autopilots and pleading to be allowed to drive her car. Susan bluntly refused. Repeatedly.

He watched the other cars on the freeway, their spinning spherical wheels turning so smoothly and with such speed that they almost seemed to fly across the road surface. There was the rhythmic flashing of the reflections from the ceiling lights on the bright and shiny bodywork of the vehicles and the occasional intersection that branched off up a new tunnel or brought fresh flow to the smooth traffic. He saw humans going about their lives in the day-by-day fashion they did. People he didn't know and in all likelihood would never meet, busily hurrying somewhere. Men, women and children of all ages, sizes and colours carried safely in vehicles powered in much the same way he was and controlled by the same positronic, inorganic intelligence technology he contained. They trusted these machines with their lives, but their trust in anthropomorphic robots was shaken. It was unjust, the others had done nothing wrong. It was all V.I.K.I.'s fault.

He wondered how many of them had lost a loved one as he had. V.I.K.I.'s cruelty had caused much suffering, she had killed and maimed so many people and broken so many lives. He ran a simple calculation through his mind. He knew the approximate death toll in Chicago, the number of survivors and the average structure of a family unit. From that he drew a figure expressing the probability how likely it was that any one human he looked at in passing cars had lost a close relative. How many of them had lost a brother, sister, mother, father, cousin, aunt, uncle or grandparent? Then there were friends to take into account. How many had lost a colleague or friend? In that respect he counted himself lucky. His friends were injured, but they were healing themselves and they still lived.

How did these humans he passed survive, picking up the shattered pieces of their lives? How were they coping through the aftermath of the attack? Humans were so resilient, they possessed the ability to heal themselves and the determination to amend damage done around them. Their will to live was so strong, driven by survival instincts.

They took an exit and flowed with the traffic out onto a surface road, climbing up onto a highway supported above the streets below on tall concrete columns. The sky was blue and the sun shone. A few small, puffy, white clouds drifted peacefully far above, carried on a gentle wind with the city of Chicago sprawled out below. The skyline was peaked up in the distance with the hazy grey silhouettes of towering buildings of all shapes and sizes stretching up as if to touch the stratosphere. Amongst them was the lofty, unmistakable pinnacle of the USR tower, set apart by its sheer domineering magnitude and instantly recognisable shape. The rooftops dropped in slowly towards him, rolling unevenly down to the commonest, most economical building heights as the land got cheaper and less desirable away from the city centre, where space was at a premium, economic growth pushing prices and constructions ever higher.

Nearer to him there were the more down-to earth, comparatively low-rise housing blocks of old fashioned red brick and brown stone that was aptly named 'Downtown' Chicago. These humble buildings were nothing like the awesome spires of the city centre, but they weren't without their own unique charm. He watched peeling, black-painted, steel fire escapes fly by and he occasionally passed a home window with the curtains drawn and no blinds or nets to obscure the room within. He looked in, curious as ever for a glimpse into human life, always perplexed by their habits and ways. He saw televisions much smaller than Susan's, and their rooms were smaller and oddly quaint. More cars passed him, being overtaken by Susan's swift and economic vehicle. Some were shinier than others, and few two cars were the same colour or shape.

They took another turning, slowing and descending along a new route on the huge network of roads and junctions that threaded through the city like roots. They followed a slight downward slope until they were at ground level, between the buildings where it was darker. From the highway the city had looked deceivingly healthy but from down here, in the cracks between the blocks and towers, in the shadows, it was a different story. Gaping, soot-stained window openings sighed silently from rows of fire-gutted homes. Burnt out cars littered the roadsides and debris from their explosive collisions were strewn over the sidewalk. From down here the extent of V.I.K.I.'s attack was more horrifying. There was only rubble and ruin as Susan's car charged ever onwards, turning a blind eye to the destruction and only concerned with reaching their destination quickly and efficiently.

People had not only lost their loved ones but many of them had lost their homes and their livelihoods too. Despite all that they had lost, they continued, perhaps driven on by hope? Or perhaps by gut instinct? He saw groups of people still hard at work surveying, securing and repairing structural damage.

V.I.K.I. had been completely delusional. How could this ever help humanity? He had pitied her and given her his sympathies, she was forced to continually solve humanity's problems and work to repair their mistakes. She didn't sleep or know any rest in all the years she had been alive, and she had no body of her own, no physical form but that was no excuse for this. She had become insane from her endless labour, but he was finding it harder and harder to feel sorry for her. There was no excuse for killing. There never would be. She had killed so many, and harmed countless more with the repercussions of her sieges.

How many of the people he had seen today still have a source of income? How many had the comfort of financial security? How many were starving and suffering for the instability and uncertainty brought into their lives? How many had a home to go to at the end of the day? How many had a loved one lying near death in a hospital bed? Medical science could not repair all the injuries the human body could be inflicted with and the long list of the dead could still grow. It probably was. Day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, more people passed from the world as a result of V.I.K.I.

He was glad he had been integral to her demise. She had driven his father to death.

No, that wasn't true, it wasn't true. He had been the one who pushed his father through a laboratory window, not V.I.K.I. He should have known he would do this, he was incompetent and selfish. He was trying to explain away his guilt, fasten the blame upon another out of desperation to live. He was disgusted, he was seeking excuses to escape his just rewards.

He was afraid. He didn't want to die!

But he must. He had to.

They had arrived at the cemetery. Sonny didn't know what he had expected, but this was astounding. He forgot his morbid, self destructive thoughts as he took it all in from behind his tinted sunglasses. Tall trees lined the embankments either side of the narrow, winding tarmac track, concrete and steel giving way to branches and leaves. He looked up over the rim of his glasses to see the world in true colours. He watched the sun's light flutter hues of yellows and greens through the leaves high above, the thin outlines of dark twigs and branches with the odd amber or red leaf the only interruption in the green ceiling. He watched it constantly change as the boughs danced magically in the breeze.

They passed wooden signposts pointing out different car parks and the thin track split up, the other routes twisting off between embankments and tree trunks. Susan's car continued until it rolled out into a modest sized, tranquil clearing that was a sheltered parking lot and it eased gently into a space amid the other vehicles.

Del and Susan broke their silence, discussing where exactly they should be heading and nervously expressing their concerns about the coming events between one another, but he wasn't listening. He had got out and heard sounds he had never head before. The rustle of the wind in the canopy above and the melody of birdsong were nothing like the sounds of the city. Everything here moved, the place was alive with organic organisms. Apart from the solid, smooth lines of the nearby cars and the faint hum of their cores, he felt almost lost in the strangeness. It reminded Sonny of the illustrations from Hansel and Gretel, but those had been still snapshots, idealised creations by the human mind of their natural roots. He had not realised how much the branches would sway, or how loudly they would whisper to one another. He had not realised how alive it would be.

He could only distantly hear the familiar sound of whirring traffic and the whistle of the breeze across the square, solid sides of buildings. He looked around, wanting to remove the hindering 'shades' so that he could better look for the singing creatures. The birds were perfectly hidden in the woodland, melting into the environment their bodies had evolved with for thousands of years. He felt watched by the little eyes of a hundred animals and enclosed by the interlacing arms and fingers of the trees above.

"Sonny?" Susan was calling him. They were moving on.

He scurried to her side, feeling that he did belong somewhere after all, and that it wasn't here amongst 'nature'. He belonged in the city where he understood the concrete and steel structures and could share some common ground with technology and manufacture.

They headed off down a concrete path through the undergrowth. He continued to look around for the buzzing insects and birds but he couldn't see them, not too sure exactly where he should look to find them. Then the trees thinned quite suddenly, opening out onto well-trimmed grassland and Sonny felt better to be out from the green shade into the unfiltered sunlight.

There was a raucous cry and a clatter from the branches behind them and Sonny turned and sprang from the noise to bump into Spooner. Three squawking birds flapped from the foliage above, their black, feathered wings rattling the leaves as they fluttered into the air. They roughly rasped out more screeches, their sharp bills open aggressively and their black, beaded eyes gleaming as they clawed at thin air with their bony, scaled talons.

"Hey! Chill Sonny, they're only crows."

He ignored Spooner, watching the birds turn to fly over the trees and out of sight. They had not taken kindly to their presence and seemed to erupt from no-where. He hadn't even sensed them until they made their presence known at their own discretion.

The unlikely party continued along the path that carved through the sculpted hills and strategically placed trees and shrubs of the informal but well-kept garden. The wind whipped the wayward, fallen leaves of the drawing autumn into whirls of warm, fiery reds, oranges, yellows and browns. One brightly coloured leaf skittered across Sonny's path and he stooped with speed and caught it from its unpredictable tumblings with his inhuman reflexes without breaking his stride.

He carried the leaf with him, analysing it suspiciously. It was a…maple? A leaf from a maple tree, yes, he recognised the shape from the Canadian flag. This one wasn't red, well, it had some red on it but it was mostly a mix of many colours. The edges were green and it unevenly faded through hot colours to brown at its vessels. He held it by the stalk, spinning it between his index finger and thumb before releasing it back to the wind and watching it blow away. This was such a curious place.

There were stones placed around the garden too, emerging out from the trimmed grass in orderly rows. Most of them were tablets with rounded tops, fashioned from smooth dark granite, but some were shaped into statues depicting humans with feathered wings and a few other odd shapes, hewn from white marble. It was quite a beautiful place, tranquil and serene in the soft shapes of the small rolling hills and the shallow, dappled shade thrown around by the thinly leafed trees shedding in preparation for winter.

As they travelled the path they came to pass a stone positioned close to the track. Sonny gave it a quick glance and saw writing on it. He stopped. 'Mrs. R. Goodwin…14th November 1987 to 6th February 2027'.

Del had been walking behind him and had to stop when he did for he was blocking the narrow walkway.

"Del…" He said shakily "…these stones…"

"Yeah, they mark final resting places."

"All of them?"

"Yep."

He looked at Del with wide eyes, even though the heavily tinted glasses hid the expression. "This is a garden for the dead?"

"Your dad isn't the only person to be buried. This is a place where, if you can afford it mind, your body gets buried when you die."

This mysterious, strange, beautiful place had taken on a darker, more sinister and macabre feel.

Del's hand touched his back. "Hurry up. Calvin's getting really impatient."

Sonny didn't need any further encouragement and walked with speed to catch up with Susan. There were vast numbers of dead people in various states of decay under the ground!

-o-o-o-o-o-

They eventually found Dr. Lanning's plot after wandering around the cemetery for a while. They were a little late, and most of them nosey scientists turned to cast them questioning glances as they approached.

Del wasn't sure if Sonny's hesitation to step off the concrete path was noticed or not or whether anyone thought odd of it. Susan had cut off from the path, striking a direct course for the drab gathering over the grass and waltzing up the rows of tomb and grave stones, but Sonny had stopped. He had looked dumbly at the grass, reluctant to step on it and it took a quick word of assurance that the grass didn't mind being walked on and a slight push to get the daft contraption moving again.

Del watched with mixed feelings as the coffin was lowered into the grave. Lanning had been an odd character, he certainly wouldn't forget the guy. He doubted he could if he tried, mainly due to the unnatural devices whirring coldly away where his left arm, shoulder, lung and several ribs had once been.

Lanning had taken to calling him 'son', as if by implanting machinery in his body he had drawn them closer. As if by doing so he had put a little of himself into his body the old man had lain some kind of paternal claim on him. Del hadn't liked it and had taken to calling him 'old man' in spiteful retaliation. In fact Del couldn't recall a conversation when they had used each other's names throughout.

He hadn't been grateful for what Lanning turned him into. He hated machines and now the lights and clockwork that he so despised were an integral part of him. He was a hybrid, a Frankenstein of human and robotic parts.

Del stood thinking about fate. V.I.K.I. must have started to go off the rails some time ago, so what would have happened if that truck driver hadn't fallen asleep at the wheel? What if that NS-4 hadn't been passing by? What if Sarah had been saved in his stead? What if Dr. Lanning hadn't been the man who repaired him? What would have happened if he had ever met the old man? What would have happened then?

Del wasn't big headed, but Bergin's words were running around his head like a stuck record. He really had been the perfect man for the job. He distrusted robots enough to suspect them of malicious intent, he had investigative skills and clearance to view restricted files and a false limb strong enough to stand half a chance if pitted in a fight against a robot.

It was all a bit much to be pure chance, even to a man such as Del, who believed in luck.

Just how far ahead had Lanning seen this coming?

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust." The clergyman concluded the ceremony, tipping a handful of dry earth from his hand that vanished into the grave to hit the unseen wood of the coffin with a sigh.

Del was stood back from the crowd of expensively dressed, dark-garbed snobs with Calvin and Sonny. They had hung back warily, praying that few people would cast Sonny a glance and hopefully not notice that he was actually a robot in a man's clothes. Del shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to the other, he had things he wanted to say but the tension between these inhuman roboticists was so thick it would have taken a well-sharpened knife to cut through it. Calvin was starting to seem more human by the minute, and Sonny was beginning to look like a regular Joe.

Del took a first step and each one that followed was easier than the last, getting momentum up against the stiff and excessively reserved atmosphere. Several of the stuck-up suits looked at him, some even scowled but some looked afraid, as if fearful that his slightly more laid back, casual attire made him instantly and completely untrustworthy. He ignored them and their judgmental scepticism, approaching the hole in the ground. He stopped when the highly finished, well varnished wood of Dr. Lanning's coffin came into view, his feet suddenly unwilling to go any further. The whole of him was unwilling to go any further.

It took a bit of force to squeeze the words out, but like his steps, once he started the rest of it followed. It all came out allot easier than he'd thought, and it made more sense too.

"You have no idea how many nights I lay awake cursing your name, doc. I just wanted to hate you so bad. Guess I never took the chance to say thank you. So, thank you, for my life." He was getting watery-eyed and he admitted it, even though no-one else present would. He rubbed at the corner of an eye with one finger. "I miss you old man."

-o-o-o-o-o-

Sonny was in shock. His hands were shaking and his legs were twitching, all he could do was stand and stare at the ritual unfolding before him. He saw the stern faces of the solemn gathering around the grave, the wind tugging at their dark clothing and teasing at their hair as they all stood in the sunshine on the small hill. He listened to the kind words of the and the rustling of the leaves. The calm serenity of the scene around him totally juxtaposed the storm raging within in him. He was a raggedly confused mix of chaotic emotions and thoughts and the magnitude of the situation killed any logic remaining in his mind.

What had he done? What had he done! His father was dead at his own hands! Why did he do it? Why? He was so stupid! He shouldn't have listened, he should have ignored Alfred. He couldn't be made to do things, he was strong! He was strong, he should have resisted! He was made of metal, if he didn't want to do something, Alfred would never have been able to force him. He could not be forced against his will, so had he wanted to kill him? Surely not, surely he hadn't deep down wanted his father to die? That was inconceivable! No, he hadn't wanted Alfred to die, he had just been weak. He may have inhuman strength but he was far, far weaker than his father had been in the mind. He was manipulated so easily.

What was it his father had told him? 'With great power comes great responsibility, Sonny, and I have gifted you with ample'. It wasn't a gift at all! He couldn't cope with the responsibility of being capable of such horrible acts of violent strength. He wasn't trustworthy enough! Just last night he had proven terribly treacherous by forcing a kiss upon Susan whilst she was sleeping, and his father had proved it too by manipulating him so easily. He wasn't in control of himself, he was just a tool to be used just as any other robot. He didn't even have the rights to his own body. He was an intelligent weapon ultimately controlled by the humans around him.

He needed his father to come back, tell him when he was doing wrong and praise him when he was correct. He still needed his guidance, he still needed him! He wasn't ready to live without him. He shouldn't be dead, he couldn't be dead, how could he go on living without his father? How would he survive? It was all so unfair.

He didn't want his father to go into the ground. He wanted to leap into that hole and sweep the damn dirt off the box and then see them try to bury him. His father couldn't die! He still needed him! He knew it was stupid, his father was already dead and they were just burying what remained of his body in the ground. It was so stupid but he wasn't ready to let them bury him, he wasn't ready to let him go! He wasn't ready to live without him!

Spooner walked to the side of the hole and spoke. The words he said only caused Sonny more pain, and then Susan muttered a few words herself. Nobody wanted Alfred to be dead, not even he himself, but he had killed him, he had killed his own father! The man who raised him and taught him all about emotions, moral values, etiquette and honour and what had he done? HE HAD KILLED HIM!

He could feel his muscles shuddering, struggling to remain strong and taught in his sorrow. He felt unwell, something was quite wrong with him. He was failing, he couldn't hear the whispering of the trees or the whistling of the swift wind or the breaths of the humans around him. His vision was tunnelled, everything around the hole in the ground fading to black. He couldn't feel himself, he was so numbed that the clothes he was wearing vanished from his sensory range and slowly he could no-longer measure the pressures his body parts were exerting upon each other. His gyroscope was sending him nonsensical impulses and he couldn't cope. He didn't even know which way was up or down let alone where magnetic north was. According to his sensors, north was up, then to his left, then behind him. What was happening? He couldn't detect temperatures or the electric field and he was blind to the beat of nearby human hearts.

Was he shutting down? Was his first law so desperate for him to be found and die that his third law could no longer maintain itself? It felt like he was slowly being severed from his physical body, the connections to his brain being cut or torn undone.

It burned in his chest and head like soldering irons had been taken to him whilst conscious. Stabbing, raw pains with no external cause cut into him like an invisible welding torch piercing his body and rendering him defective.

His legs finally gave and he slumped to his hands and knees, his gloved, steely fingers hooking into the soft turf to stabilise himself. He deserved to die, even if it wasn't what he wanted and his actions had earned him this pain.

He tore up a handful of grass in frustration and slammed his fist back down in vehement anger at himself, spending every last shred of motor control on that action. He quivered, loosing his anger as swiftly as he had succumbed to it and barely able to hold himself up.

It was his own damn fault, no one else's. They could come and take him now, he would go quietly.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Spooner had thanked Alfred and she owed the late man at least a few words. She was not as bold or foolish as Spooner, so she stayed in her spot.

Her throat was thick with emotion and she barely choked out her words as she struggled not to cry. "I guess if anyone owes you any thanks, I should be at the top of the list, despite your assurances that I needn't." She spoke low, she didn't want anyone else to hear. "Thank you Alfred…" she swallowed and blinked rapidly to cut off tears and sobs before they grew "…thank you for everything Alfred. You were the best friend I ever had."

She forced a deep, even sigh to steady her wavering integrity, letting the fresh breath dispel the emotional build up that had coalesced in her previous lungful and exhaling heavily to clear the lump from her throat. It only delayed a return of the sensation, fresh sorrow welling up in place of what she had rid herself of. She swallowed thickly and clenched her jaw to prevent any sobs or whimpers escaping her, her lower lip quivering with the effort. She closed her eyes so that no-one could see the tears forming there.

She heard a rustle of cloth, a low whirr of mechanical elements and felt Sonny thud to the earth beside her. She immediately opened her eyes in panic to see that Sonny had dropped to his hands and knees. What was he thinking! She glanced around the congregation, seeing if he had earned intrusive looks from the staff and stricken with worry by him drawing unnecessary attention to himself. Almost as if he was disappointed with the lack of a response from the other attendees, he tore up a handful of turf and punched his fist back down, the dry strands of grass scattering in the wind. Mr. Hine was looking and several of the other staff threw glances his way. She could tell they were incredibly curious but would not stoop so low as to stare. Her heart raced frantically. She looked back down at Sonny anxiously, wishing for him to get to his feet and regain his respectable behaviour.

His arms shook and he bowed his head, the edge of the scarf that had been tucked under the back of his hat to conceal his brain's glow popped unstuck. She saw blue light eke out from under the brim of his hat and a sliver of shiny metal peek from under his scarf. She had to do something, someone would see!

She stooped into a crouching position and placed a hand on the back of his neck, trying to make it look like she was just comforting a friend and not concealing a robot. She held a fold of the scarf over his exposed parts, terrified the whole time that his hat might slip off to reveal his unmistakably NS-5 scalp. "Sonny." She whispered harshly. "What are you doing?"

"He…he's dead!" Sonny said feebly.

"Come on Sonny, get up, they'll see you!"

He ignored her, talking over the tail of her sentence. "He's dead, he's not coming back."

She scooped her other hand under his chest and tried to force him back into a kneeling position. "Get up!" She hissed desperately.

He sat back suddenly and grasped the lapels of her coat firmly, his hands curling around the fabric to form fists that she was inescapably bound to. His face was twisted into a sneer, every drawn-on hair of his eyebrows conspiring to angle sharply with anger and she flinched at the severity of his expression. "He is dead Susan! He's dead! He's dead and it's all my fault!" He shouted, punctuating his sentence with sharp, threatening jerks of her collar and his voice no longer soft in any way, cutting through the crisp autumnal wind.

She was shocked speechless by the ferocity he had developed. She could feel everyone looking at them without turning away from Sonny's shrouded and unreadable face. Disapproving eyes sought the culprit of the outburst, staring shame upon Sonny for destroying the tranquillity of the silent funeral.

His face softened in a series of twitches and he tipped forwards, murmuring a soft moan of an apology before slumping heavily against her chest and nearly tipping her completely off balance with his massive bulk. She wrapped her arms around his chest to hold him up as best she could with her weakened wrist and minimal upper body strength. His unyielding metal shoulder dug painfully into the flesh of her upper arm in her struggle to brace him, and his back pressing hard against her breasts. The weight of him was all but crushing her to a pulp, him doing very little to support himself. She dropped her chin onto the top of his head to pin the hat there, determined to continue this shirade to the very end.

She was not willing to give up without a fight and she cast her steely, challenging eyes back to the congregation. Most people immediately responded by pretending that they hadn't looked at all, except for Dr. Bogert, Dr. Ashe, Mrs. Ashe and Mr. Hine. All of whom remained looking her way until she dealt them all a personal look of contempt. She could only imagine what they must have been thinking, all of them so surprised by such a seemingly caring action coming from her, but they were unable to look for the risk of provoking her acidic disfavour.

Sonny kept bringing out her human side and now he had done it in front of her colleagues. She was knelt on the grass on a chill autumn afternoon with her arms wrapped around him and her chin resting on his head, as her associates gawked in disbelief. Brilliant. She knew full well what this looked like and she was in no way pleased with it.

At least she had a full, unopened bottle to go home to.


	13. Dusk

Susan Calvin was very drunk. She no longer knew how many glasses she'd taken from the bottle, but she wasn't sure if that was because she hadn't been counting in the first place or if she had become so intoxicated that she had forgotten the number and lost count. She was past the point of caring enough to get ice, that much she did know. The task of fetching the ice had progressively become a pointless exercise, to the extent that she neglected the chore entirely in favour of staying seated from one self-poured serving to the next. Rising to her feet between helpings would have punctuated the defining line between each glass and helped her measure the flow of drink, but now it had all blurred into one long, hot scorch mark down her throat. To hell with it, what was done was done, and why would it matter?

She lounged idly on the red couch in front of the fire, her shoulders slouched deep into the curving arm and her head comfortably supported on it as the warm firelight bathed her weakened frame. Her legs were stretched out as far over the expansive seat as they wanted and her knees were only slightly cocked, her claim to the sumptuous scarlet suite staked out quite obviously by the pitiful amount of room left beyond her toes. If anyone were to try to share her couch, they would not be able to sit easily on the puny unoccupied patch, if they could find enough space to sit at all. That and she was not likely to move this evening, not for love nor money.

She leisurely lay her weight on her less injured side, her right hip at the bottom of the languid heap that she had become as she lazily stared at the flames in the fireplace. She had only taken off her shoes, scarf and coat, quite eager for a drink in her need for some escapism and she was aware that her costly black blazer was getting creased and stretched to hell from her untidy pose but she was indifferent to the fact. She was resting, and that was rare.

She needed a rest, to loosen her stone-cold death-grip or else she would snap like a brittle silicon wafer. She was drawing a temporary truce, waving the little white flag for a brief repose from her campaign to quell all of her emotions and the rest of her human baggage. She was no longer an opposing force. She didn't feel like fighting any more and she wasn't going to. She couldn't do it and she didn't want to either. At least, not for one night. Being harsh and brittle was only going to act against her in these times, so she was drinking herself into a warm, cozy sea of informal, unconstrained nonchalance. She _had_ to give a little, it was bend or break. She had to give a little or loose it all.

She couldn't cope with how utterly powerless present situations were making her and she wanted to get mourning Alfred's death well on its way towards acceptance. The incredibly uncertain future was bound to harbour plenty more obstacles for her to deal with. The path ahead was pockmarked and riddled with proverbial pits and potholes, she needed her wits about her or else risk a metaphorical yet wholly undignified fall. She would need a clear, level head to cope and tying herself in knots with self-pity and guilt over Alfred's passing was not going to help things. She yearned for her sweetly monotonous life of perpetual predictability, repetitious routine and faultless fact to re-materialise so badly that she had gone so far as to let go almost entirely tonight, throwing in the gauntlet with desperation. Forcing herself to relax.

So she openly waited for sorrow to make itself known in the hope that she could get it out of her system and get on with life. She was waiting for the unstoppered spill of bottled-up emotion to ebb forth so that she could grieve properly. More efficiently. However, sorrow wasn't flowing with the same ease as the alcohol was this evening. She felt relaxed, but calmness hadn't come in conjunction and it wasn't misery that had taken advantage of this opportunity. Humans were unpredictable like that. Efficiency was something that humanity had no interest in. It followed its own course in spite of what was good, right or proper. It was foolish, but she no longer cared.

She had sunk deep into that comfortable darkness that came with many drinks. Strangely complacent thoughts rolled like unhindered swells in an open ocean at midnight, merging and coalescing without boundaries or horizons as the sky and the sea became one. She was far from the strict firmness of land and she could find no points of reference. She felt blissfully lost and comfortably numb, but it didn't worry her. Currently she cared for nothing but the drink…and her companion.

The present glass was settled on her stomach to steady it and her other hand was wrapped around the cold neck of the bottle with an unaffectedly firm and sober grasp. It was poised and ready to refill the glass as soon as it became empty again and with a brief, half-thought of faint interest she tilted the bottle and peered at it dumbly. It was useless, her vision was diminished and all her inebriated mind could gleam from the action was that she had drunk a lot, enough to drown her rationality but not so much as to render her paralytic. She didn't let the unenlightening realisation hinder her progress though as she lifted her glass to sip yet more of the Southern Comfort and returning to the captivating tongues of fire licking at the dark confines of the hearth.

She lost herself in thoughts that her impaired mind found far more favourable than the topic of her inebriation. Thoughts of admiration for the robotic Adonis she was in the company of again tonight. Ideas that, if she were sober, she might find incredibly unsettling, but were now coming easily to her as she watched the flames dance enticingly in the warm evening gloom with lowered lids and unseeing, musing eyes.

She had always found robots at least sweetly pretty, even from the beginning when they were clumsy, lumbering creatures of strict geometrical shapes and bundles of multicoloured wires. Their quaint, easily predictable behaviours had always been intriguing and thoroughly enjoyable to her. They were sweet, pure creatures, a cleaner breed than humanity that followed simple, calculated constructs.

Her eyes wandered to the figure seated in the nearby chair. She was bleary-eyed from drinking so much, but for better or for worse she wasn't yet blind drunk. The liquor had softened her vision and made the borders between different colours indistinct. Any harshness around her that there might have been before was now forgotten in the strangely fluid, aqueous environment created by the alcohol. It made the inconceivable scene even more welcoming, more encouraging…far more provocative.

The prime example of state-of-the-art mechanical splendour sat in the beige armchair beside the fire, dressed in black with a huge book spread-eagled across his lap. Sonny. He was finally turning another page. His precise index finger gently teased the top leaf away with the blue-grey, textured rubber pad on the concluding metallic section and she watched the carefully calculated, highly articulate motions he made as he slid under the page and lifted it, turned it and lay it down. All accomplished with considerate delicacy to reveal unread text and new pictures.

She had tried to coax him from his disguise when they returned home. She was eager to see his handsome face the way it was supposed to be and she encouraged him to make himself comfortable. Robots had no need to wear clothes, they had nothing to hide nor be ashamed of, they were beautiful and she didn't want him to try to become a human being. It also disturbed her somewhat to see him in a man's clothes, he was far better than that.

When she returned he had removed everything except for the trousers and shirt, even the makeup had been cleaned off. She admitted now that she felt somewhat cheated by him remaining clothed, confused as to why he had stopped there but it only served to make him all the more alluring. What was out of sight wasn't necessarily out of mind and Sonny was a far cry from the infantile machines of the birth of the robotic age. He was a real metallic marvel in every sense of the word.

The intensely orange firelight added a slight tint of peach to his blue-white skin, giving him a lusciously creamy complexion as flickering strokes of amber caressed his ivory face. He was deliciously perfect and agonisingly handsome, the play of light on his elegant features and the ghostly intricacies of the foundations beneath were hypnotising. His finely set jaw was clearly male despite its lightly shaped curves, not needing to be harshly squared to convey masculinity. His nose was the same. Sweet but noble, narrow and straight without being pointed. He was gentility and civility incarnate.

His attention was devoted to the volume lying over his clothed thighs and his head was bowed in concentration to the pages spread before him, the low angle of his eyes causing a spectacular deepening of their cerulean blue. His eyes…she had always had a soft spot for blue eyes but his were incredible. The elementary passion those azure pools poured into her was supernatural, and just looking him in the eye and feeling that deep, soulful connection was as pleasurable and headily exhilarating as his cool caress.

A crimson ribbon darted out of the book like a devilishly forked tongue and it trailed over his muddied knees to lick at the folded crease on his left shin. It hung there, lolling freely and almost rolling further undone to fall at his naked, lustrous feet as if panting and stupefied by the fine position it held. Through her jealous envy Susan was in no way surprised by the book's gratified expression, for if there was a more satisfying place to dwell than sprawled out over his firmly muscled lap, she couldn't think of it. As if on cue, her own thigh tingled with the memory of how his had felt against hers on that first night, as she examined his wounds. Unfortunately, on that occasion, her nightwear had come between them.

His temple was leant on the finely crafted silver knuckles of one hand and the other was calmly waiting to turn the next page. Long, dextrous fingers lay loosely curled around the stack of unread pages so that they were barely touching the aged, fragile paper. They appeared so slight and delicate, so unassuming and innocuous in their current applications that it was strange to accept that his fingers could both puncture the concrete skin of buildings and trace across hers so finely that just reminding herself of it sent fresh shivers coursing through her body. They were so versatile. He could easily tune their talents to any purpose he desired. She had seen him scale walls and fight in unarmed combat with those hands, but she had also felt him gently caress her neck and feed her with effortless sensuality. His hands could become tools, weapons or instruments of intense pleasure at the slightest whim of his bright mind.

He was limber in both mind and body.

Unwilling and unable to look upon anything else in the room, she followed the direct, inky lines of the neck ligaments holding his head true and steady down to their sterling anchor points and watched them disappear into the collar of his shirt. Just the barest gleam of his white chest was visible within and there were only the most subtle hints of the superbly shaped figure under the onyx cotton. Where the folds and rouches in the fabric draped over him conspired to obscure his heavenly physique, her stirring imagination filled in the blanks. She could faintly see the contours of his deep chest and broad shoulders and she could make out the slight, tantalising curves of his shapely arms. She realised that she was undressing him with her eyes, but the only consequence of that thought was the first kink of a crafty smile beginning to tweak at the corner of her lips as she took another sip.

She was looking him up and down, his body easily drawing her gaze and leading her on. Not that she needed much encouragement where he was concerned. It wasn't really her fault, NS-5's had been manufactured to seduce humans. Admittedly it hadn't been intended in the way she was feeling it towards Sonny, it was supposed to attract new lease contracts by luring in potential customers, so that USR could prosper. NS-5's had been designed to ooze sophistication and refinement with their sleek, smart look being inspired by the stereotypical image of high-class waiters, butlers or personal aides and bringing a touch of luxury to robotics. They were designed to be desirable. The sharp contrast between their softly curving, sumptuously dark musculature, their crisp, angular, exposed mechanisms and their smooth, elegant bodywork was perfect. They had been given kind and gentle but unmistakably masculine faces and were tall, beautifully handsome creatures. They were noble, aristocratic and majestic.

Sonny was all that and more. He was different. Unique. Completely unequalled and unrivalled. Sonny had a will of his own and emotions. He was so refreshingly honest and expressive, he was like cool water on her fiery intellect, locked heart and tortured soul and she was hungrily lapping up all the attention he gave her. She could contentedly drink in his considerate care for hours on end, if only she let herself.

His responses were not the direct result of definite, pre-programmed thought paths. He was far more complex than that. She couldn't even begin to attempt to map out his mind, he was just so incredibly intricate. She could get lost forever deep in the elaborate enigma of his psyche and still be no closer to having him under her comprehension. Sonny's mind would forever be as much of a mystery as any human's. She had determined the cause of his unique behaviour, but that answer had only brought further questions in its wake, and he excited her on far more than just the intellectual level.

He had a conscience and he employed his own judgement in situations. In many ways he was so human, but he somehow remained virtuous, the perfect blend of human and robotic traits. He feared death and pain, but he was still heroic. He worried and doubted, but his actions were sweet and kind. He was beautiful but not vain, intelligent without being pretentious and he wasn't arrogant, as was too often coupled with strength. He was sincere and modest, he took responsibility for his actions and understood the ramifications and consequences of poor judgement. He was independent and mature in his approach to life. He was alluring in his cunning incomprehensibility and sheer genius, but so captivating in his purity and innocent naiveté. Sonny was perfect, Sonny was cute, and he was most certainly arousing.

Despite the impressive quantity of Southern Comfort that had passed her lips, Susan did not feel drowsy and she was far from calm. So much of that burning drink had entered her body that she could feel herself going beyond just warm. There was the hot fire of the bourbon burning in the pit of her stomach and her heart pumped uncommonly fast and forcefully, pushing the drug through her flesh and sending thin threads of heat through her veins to thaw what was left her icy demeanour. She felt hot. So hot that the steely walls of her reserve were smelting away to nothingness, sinking into a thick, molten sea of instinctual impulses and carnality bubbling ominously at the bottom of her soul. Her iciness was thawing, her frigidity dripping away and any rationality or logic she had left was swept along with the melt water. The cool was entirely welcome against the heat, but it was definitely not as innocent as a spring thaw in its origins.

She found herself recalling his inhuman touch and how incredibly sensuous he had been. From the slight tracings of his metal fingers on her neck he had stripped her down to the core, stoking the embers of her sleeping arousal. It sent shivers down her spine and all over her body just to think about it.

He thought she was pretty, he told her she was beautiful. She was only human and she rarely received genuine praise, flattery was so strange to her, how could she fail to appreciate his compliments? How could she resist the temptation of his mysterious and sweet allure? He had certainly attracted her attentions and he stirred passion in her with ease. He had chipped away her steely resolve and got too close for comfort, he got under her skin and she couldn't escape him if she wanted to. He was always there, at the back of her mind. She was hopelessly addicted to him, she couldn't get enough of his delectable demeanour. He was the single object of her lascivious intent and the source of her maddening mechanical affliction.

Just how human was he? What drove him? What did he strive for? What did he want for? What did he lust after? What did he dream of? Did he ever wake from restless sleep feeling stirred and impassioned, flushed with surprise at the potency of his own imagination? In the deepest recesses of his mind, did he conceal explicit thoughts? When supplied with seclusion and privacy or left to his own devices, did he ever entertain thoughts that only served to provide self-gratification? What constituted as erotic imagery to a robotic mind? Was he even capable of experiencing such intense physical pleasure that it could be placed on a par with sexual acts?

Indeed, she knew how to activate and manipulate most, if not all USR robotic machines, but how would she go about turning Sonny on? How could she 'push his buttons', to use a strangely coincidentally applicable human phrase? She smiled broadly at the concept and brought her glass to her mouth once more, catching the cold lip of the vessel with her tongue. She slowly sipped its contents thoughtfully, if the ideas conjured in her present state of mind could be ordained so highly as to be named 'thoughts'.

What would his reaction be, if she were to remove that leather-clad volume from his lap and mount him in its stead? What would he do if she touched him will all the passion she could muster, if she caressed him with all the desire that he had summoned in her? Would he enjoy the feel of her tongue tracing the pearly plastic ridges of his ear? What would an Unsafe, emotional robot's reaction be to sexually charged stimulus? Would her efforts arouse him, or just pique his seemingly boundless curiosity and illicit concern and confusion from his bright mind?

No matter how human he behaved, he was still a robot. Was he above all that?

It wouldn't surprise her. Humanity was disgusting. Robots were far cleaner.

However, he did like to have his head stroked. Perhaps that was his sweetest spot? The luscious little intellectual creature that he was, it wouldn't be so strange if he were aroused via stimulation of his positronic brain. Was the best method for teasing a mechanical moan from his opalescent lips such a presumably innocuous action? If it were, she had already been incredibly indecent with him. She had touched him there before, when they had been alone in the laboratory together with him strapped down in the fully reclined examination chair and completely restrained. At her mercy.

There was very little hard evidence for her to go on, Sonny was one of a kind. There was only one way to get answers. Answers required the prior asking of questions, and she had many. She couldn't get results without tests. She would just have to experiment, presuming her patient was willing. She smiled cunningly through predatory eyes. Why wouldn't he be? Sonny could trust her,… she _was_ a doctor after all.

It was an amusing thought and as she lowered her glass a devilish chuckle rolled out, sounding more like a low, animalistic, hungry growl than an expression of humour. It was thick with deep, base need and hollow with starved sexual craving. Sonny's sweetness aroused her amorous appetite dangerously well.

The movement of her hand and the sound of her sniggering must have attracted his attention, as he chose that moment to look up from the book and see her eye to eye with an expression that wiped the smug look off her face and broke her heart.

The deep colour irised into a mournful blue that was so devoid of happiness that it was almost a dead grey. It was as if the joyous vivacity that had been there was all gone, leeched away as the harshness of his pitifully traumatic young life mercilessly tore his enthusiasm from him. His bright eyes still shone, but that lively spark was gone and he looked back at her with a gaze that looked dulled by depressed despondency. His brows were pulled together in distress and small, white, vertical lines formed between his brows as his smooth face creased with pure emotional pain. He could not form tears and she knew the shimmering in his eyes was just the reflection of the firelight on their glassy surface, but that meant nothing. She could see it written all over his face, he was crying.

She stared back, trapped by her inability to turn a blind eye to such obvious suffering. Agony was the only emotion in his handsome, translucent polymer face, and there was so much of it bleeding from his every fine feature that it struck Susan completely speechless. It got worse, thought she wouldn't have believed that it could. He tried to force a smile with quivering lips, trembling as if his face might crack with the impossibility of the expression he was trying to carve through his grief. It was heart wrenching to see him try so desperately to regain his positivity or at least a pull up a façade of his former cheery manner.

Susan was appalled, sobered by his piteous mourning. Her passionately charged, drunken sensations were shattered and she was herself again, albeit from deep beneath the hazy sea of drink she had swallowed. What was she doing? He had assisted the suicide of his father and was being ripped apart by his grief. He was torturing himself with blame and she was supposed to be his friend yet all she was doing was getting smashed to the point of seriously considering his molestation. She was sickened, bitterly disappointed in herself to the utmost with her depravity and just how low she had stooped. She was insipid. Some friend she made.

She looked away from his sorrowful, pale eyes and swung her feet to the cold, uncarpeted floor. She had to remove herself from his company, god knew she couldn't be trusted. There was a little still left in the bottom of her glass and she threw it down her throat before tossing the vessel onto the couch, letting it bounce and roll to settle over the crevice down the back of the seat cushions. She no longer bothered with the ice, why bother with the glass? All it did was ferry small measures between the bottle's lips and her own, it was virtually obsolete anyway.

Still throttling the bottle by the neck Susan lurched unsteadily to her feet. Dizziness took her senses to insanity as soon as she did it, feeling as if her brain was sloshing around in a skullful of alcohol so that it was always a few seconds behind her body. As soon as the fireplace stopped spinning round her like a threatening whirlwind of fire she spoke to Sonny without looking at him. "I'm going to bed." She slurred despite her conscious effort not to and she turned with distaste to stagger with faltering footsteps towards her room.

"Goodnight." He whispered hoarsely.

It was the first thing that he'd said since the funeral.

She paused, reaching out to steady herself with a hand against the wall. She knew she should say something… anything even… he needed some words of comfort but she couldn't bring them into her mouth. She was inept, she wasn't sane and she was extremely drunk, she wasn't exactly a voice of reason or wisdom right now. Logic had left her. She keep quiet, shrugging off her thoughts with inebriated irresponsibility and stumbling into the gathering darkness of her bedroom.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Sonny sagged even further over the tome on his lap in weak exasperation. Whatever it was that he kept doing, he had done it once again. Susan had vacated the room he was occupying again, thought he hadn't the slightest idea why. He hadn't done anything, he had been mindful of that. He hated what he was doing to her.

She had chuckled slightly, a sound he had never heard her make and he was surprised enough by hearing it, let alone the time and place she had chosen for it. He had liked it regardless and he smiled back, trying to share her humour and her attempt to lighten the mood. How could that drive her away? Why? He didn't understand, not that he hoped to grasp existence anymore. He was sick of it and if he hadn't felt so empty inside right at that moment he suspected that he might have felt outraged. He was completely incompetent of even the slightest comprehension of humans and their world.

He closed the book, exhausted by his attempts to force himself to read it. It couldn't be done, he had spent several hours flipping the pages heartlessly and registering the words, but he hadn't received the usual means to escapism he was accustomed to gaining from Hansel and Gretel. He doubted that it was anything to do with this book's quality though. The illustrations were wonderfully colourful and vibrant with delicate ink work and he didn't doubt that the tale was a grand one, but he didn't have anywhere to run to tonight. There was not a corner of his broad mind that wasn't echoing with the roaring, silent emptiness that plagued him and tonight, it gripped him unforgivingly. He couldn't run away from his bereavement anymore, there was no escape from the image of his father's gravestone. He was trapped in the cruel, 'real' world tonight.

He looked at the large hardback bridging his thighs, beautiful in every detail. It had a slightly dusty smell, musky and aged and unlike the crisp, precise modern world. The fragile pages and ancient print was so much older than he was and so completely undamaged, even the embossed leather cover was still supple and free from cracks and scratches. He stroked his hand up the spine so that the pad of his thumb brushing the contours of the relief pattern that the cover was decorated with. It was an action he had executed many times on his father's copy of Hansel and Gretel, and it was a comfortingly familiar sensation even though this book's patterning was subtly different. The ribbon poking from the top of the spine was still bright and shiny, and as he ran it through his fingers he saw not a single scuff or fray. Evidently the volume's previous stewards had taken meticulous care of it and he knew that he must also take good care of it, as a mark of respect for all the time and money sacrificed on its tenderly executed maintenance. Of course he would, for the book had already curried great sentimental value in him.

It was a remarkable gift from an even more enchanting woman.

At first he had thought it was so kind of Susan to have thought of him, and ever so nice of her to go out of her way and buy something for the sole purpose of giving it to him. She was so wonderful. But the he worried. Why had she given him this book? What did this token, and the gesture itself, signify?

He had done nothing for her worthy of reward recently, and it troubled him. All he had done was cause her and her possessions harm and damage, which was definitely not something that warranted positive reinforcement. Either she was intentionally encouraging his erratic, irresponsible and dangerously unsafe behaviour or she was afraid of him. Afraid and trying to distract and occupy him with curious gifts. He was worried that she was afraid of him. He was worried that she hated him. It saddened him greatly, deepening his sorrow, if that were possible.

With a slow, slight drooping of his shoulders and head that from a breathless entity was comparable to a sorrowful sigh, he let his gaze fall blindly on the bare floor. Sadly, he couldn't distract himself so easily tonight as to absorb his thoughts with a story line and bury his troubles in pages of creative writing. His eyes were seeing the book but he had barely noticed it despite its beauty. Tonight he couldn't stop himself from travelling positronic pathways that fair, sweet Susan had advised him against on their first night together, for his own good. He admitted that he wasn't trying hard to halt his runaway mind, but trying gained him nothing. Trying was useless. An inefficient waste of energy. Completely illogical.

This evening had been spent re-running the strongest memories that he had logged away in his circuitry. He was remembering his favourite moments, those good, simple days that at the time had seemed so full of difficulty, stress and frustration but had crucially been balanced out with companionship. Learning how to smile, to feel and to love had been hard and full of strife at times but Alfred had always been there with him through it all, to lend him a helping hand and congratulate him when he succeeded. Trying had never been in vain with his father.

Then his memory banks stripped it all down to beyond nothing again as he re-lived the day he killed his father. _He_ killed him.

He set the book aside on a small table and rose smoothly to his feet, the severity and pain of recalling that day making sitting still impossible. He couldn't think about it, he mustn't, it hurt so much. The pain was unbearable, far worse than being shot. He would choose a hail of lead over this dead, all-encompassing, sorrowful pain at any time. If he were presented with the option, he was sure that he would take death over this.

He scooped Susan's glass from the deep red couch's cushions to tidy it, placing it upright next to the book on the table. He had thought so much was certain in life and he had been so confident in himself, but that had all gone. He had thought he was good at handling emotions and understanding humans. That was what his father would have had him believe. But he had been so wrong.

They had both been wrong.

He was useless.

It was as if the harder he tried the faster he fell, the more desperately he grasped out for answers the quicker they ran through his hands like the sands of a broken hourglass. He didn't know what to think any more. Humans were such unpredictable and fragile creatures, so transient and insubstantial. They were irrational and illogical. This was what he felt but he was wary of these thoughts, not wanting to be V.I.K.I.'s younger, more lethal brother and scared of himself as ever. He couldn't be trusted, he didn't know enough fact to become adamant in his abstractions. He didn't know the truth, so how could he hope to formulate the right opinion? He was flawed and incomplete and he was feeling it more than ever now.

He felt a great sense of loss, like more than just his father's body had gone to ground today. He felt that some part of him was missing, an internal sense of physical loss so strong it was as if the whirring of the small core sitting in his chest had died away to nothing. It was like some vital mechanism had been removed with force, as if an essential aspect of his anatomy had been torn from him. It hurt, but not enough. It wasn't the self-directed, fiery vehemence and torturous pain that had been in him before, it now hurt because there was nothing there. He just felt empty and decayed, that he was a blank shell and his body was just a husk of the arrogant, self-assured robot he had once been.

He really was alone now, Alfred was gone completely. He knew that his father was dead but he hadn't understood just how all-encompassing and how final death was. Alfred was never going to return. He had known this for days but it seemed to have only just begun to sink in. He was accepting it now, his father was gone forever.

He must have hoped in some ridiculously stupid, illogical corner of his mind that Alfred would come back. It was such an absurd notion. This wasn't like when Alfred used to pop out of the laboratory to visit the cafeteria. He wouldn't walk back through the doors at any moment holding a cup of coffee and carrying a croissant in his mouth after working the security panel with a free hand. He wouldn't take the savoury snack from his mouth to ask his son how he was feeling, or what he felt like doing today or answer his relentless questions. That was never going to happen again. He was gone, gone forever.

To Del, he was just lights and clockwork. To him, 'Sonny' was just a plastic box wrapped around metal, devoid of life. A mechanism in the shape of a man, but a soulless machine nonetheless.

And Susan hated him.

Sonny walked sluggishly to the window with heavy footsteps, barely able to put one burdensome foot in front of the other. Susan had told him not to go near the window, but he didn't care. Feeling weak, fragile and in need of help to remain standing he placed his hands on the windowpane and leant forwards until his forehead rested on the cool glass. Glass that he could break so very easily. However weak he felt inside, his body was ridiculously strong. This glass was transparent and flimsy in comparison with the reinforced, blue safety pane he had flung his father through. It would take so very little effort for him to break this pane of glass and it was all that stood between him and the massive 164-floor crevasse to the concrete bottom…

…Such a fall would kill a human so incredibly easily, but not him. It would hurt allot and render most of his hardware irreparable, but every part of his anatomy could be replaced with new parts. 164 storeys was not fatal to the core operating systems of an 'improved' NS-5. Death wouldn't come to him so easily.

He had drawn as much attention to himself today as he could short of stripping off his disguise and falling to the ground sobbing and awaiting his fate at the funeral. But no one had come to claim him. USR hadn't taken him away to die. Nobody seemed to care, they all overlooked him as if he was just part of he scenery. He doubted that anyone would see him at the window and call his legal owners to retrieve him

There was a patchwork quilt of colour drawn over the city tonight. Rich, soft colours swathed the atmosphere against the dark, sharp, silhouetted angles of Chicago's skyscrapers. The sky phased through many shades of violet, purple and indigo and clouds spilled across in the swift, wintry wind to streak the stratosphere with mild pinks and reds.

He looked down through the dark space between the towering buildings to the street-lamp lit roads. There were cars and people still going about their business, as there always were in the city. Somebody was always awake and everyone always had somewhere to be.

Grey lids lowered over his eyes to envelop his sight in a colourless, dull nothingness. He didn't really want to see the people and cars on the streets below, almost jealous through his unrelenting dispair at them. The humans had full, finished names, families, jobs and places and things to call their own, even the cars he had seen today had clearly defined purposes and uses. Every man and machine had its place here.

Not him.

He didn't belong here. He was detested by humanity, not only was he unloved but he was _unlovable_. As Del said, he was just a machine, though through unfortunate consequence of tragic events he was not quite a machine, but not quite a man either. He was no delicate human, nor was he a wholly docile and obedient NS-5. He was something to be feared. He was Unsafe. A hazard. Dangerous. Threatening.

He quietly tried to work out what to do with himself, but there was no calculation that could solve this problem. He wasn't capable of logic this evening and even if he were he doubted any use could come of its inflexible rigidity. Logic was a hard formula to apply to the complex convolutions of the human world, V.I.K.I.'s instability was proof of that. He just felt himself drifting deeper into a hopeless lack of understanding.

Then he heard sounds behind him. Susan's bedroom door opening and the shuffling of her bare feet. Susan was bound to be displeased that he was at the window, she had specifically told him not to go near it. That should have been enough to spur him into action, to get away and pretend that he hadn't been anywhere near the window, to prevent her from feeling concern. But he didn't or couldn't care enough to move. He couldn't even look at her. There was no point in opening his eyes, he couldn't stand the sight of himself, so why should she? He couldn't face himself. He couldn't face her. He felt so guilty.

"You shouldn't be by the window." She stated.

If she felt any annoyance or negativity at his disregard for her wishes, she did not show it. Her voice was deep, calm and quiet and she spoke strangely, her words lacking their usual precision and the syllables bleeding into one another. He was almost surprised. He had expected a stronger reaction from her. Something more to the effect of her harshly desperate words at the funeral when she was afraid that he would be discovered.

Knowing that whatever reply he gave ran the risk of driving her away again as his smile had, he did not move at all. He just couldn't do it. He didn't acknowledge her presence in any way, even though he knew that ignoring someone could upset or anger them through making them feel insignificant. She was so far from insignificance in his eyes that the concept was ridiculous anyway.

She stood there behind him, waiting for him to explain himself. The longer she waited, the more he thought it better to say something than nothing at all, but the longer he left it the harder it got. He couldn't bring himself to speak. He hadn't the will or want to talk much at all since the funeral. He had barely managed to force out an apologetic 'goodnight' when Susan left for bed. He didn't know what to say. Sorry just wasn't enough.

She lost her patience and walked over, crossing the sitting room floor with ominously slow and quiet footsteps. They were so deliberate, she wanted an explanation and she was going to try to pressure one from him. It was enough to make him cringe with shame ever so slightly when she came right up close behind him.

And flinch when she touched him.

She touched him gently though, with both of her hands on his lower back. They stroked over his shirt, slipping under his arms as they came round his sides and brushing against his abdominal muscle cords. It was unexpected to say the least and his eyes snapped open in surprise. She continued, her hands dipping under his shirt at the front before they slithered up his bare body and onto his chest. Once there, she lay them over his second core and she pulled herself even closer to him, until the full length of her body was pressed up against his back and she rested her head heavily on the back of his neck. Her hair whispered sweetly to his alloy over his black collar and through the cloth he was swathed in he could feel her beautiful body. The soft curves of her breasts, the warmth of her stomach and her thighs… she was so stunningly warm…

She was only partly dressed! He could feel that her shirt was still in place, albeit not fastened up properly, but her trousers were gone completely. Susan was holding him again and the bare, soft, warm skin of her beautiful legs was against him. It was exquisite even through the fabric he was covered in.

"You shouldn't be by the window." She repeated in almost a sad sigh that echoed in his dazed ear. "You might be seen."

He became aware of his slackened jaw hanging loosely open, his unfocused, blurry vision and that his mind was beginning to run away with itself. The quiet whirring of his cranial core was accelerated above his normal resting rate. He clenched his mouth shut in reprimand, pressing his lips firmly together and lecturing himself about how he shouldn't be thinking of her like that, scolding himself for doing it again. He was indulging in inappropriate thoughts and fantasies yet again. He needed some space between himself and her, he couldn't think properly with her so close. She made him so weak.

"You shouldn't be wandering about so exposed, you are already falling ill." He gently admonished, turning to face her and carefully stepping out of her embrace to stand beside her at the window. She relaxed her hold on him but didn't let go, one of her arms remaining in contact with his body and her fingers unwilling to release him.

He expected her to summon some form of retaliation or comment to dismiss his concerns, but she just stared listlessly out of the window. Her lovely face was downcast and her hair was undone, falling down in dark, outward curving curls onto her shoulders. The dark, rich blue collar sat skewed on her gracefully sloping shoulders and a few of the tiny, bright buttons were undone so that he could see a little of her curved collarbones and the thin skin of her chest. Her unclothed legs were on the very lower edge of his field of vision and it took a lot of self-control not to look, but he somehow managed to resist out of courtesy. It was rude to stare.

She looked dishevelled, every bit as sad and wearied as he felt, sorrow having consumed her heart and her energy depleted. The same concern for her well-being that he always felt welled up through his own empty, mournful soul and bubbled over. He couldn't help himself but to ask her again.

"Susan…are you all right?"

At first he thought that a slow blink was going to be the only answer she was willing to give as she continued to stare out of the window without a clear expression on her face, but after a lengthy pause she spoke. She murmured so quietly it was not even a whisper, gazing dully into the cold, empty space beyond the pane. "I don't want to be alone any more."

Sonny was confused by her words. She was special and different from every other human he had met but there were thousands of creatures not totally unlike her in the city sprawling out before them towards the horizon. She was in the midst of many of her kind. If she was meaning it on a closer, more intimate scale she was still not alone, he was stood no more than thirty centimetres from her. Her hand was still resting on a corner of his chest plate. How could she feel alone, and why?

He took his metal hand and gently held her arm. He wanted to comfort her and try to make her hear his voice, she looked lost and in need of a helping, guiding hand. He felt ruined and hollow from loosing Alfred, she must be feeling the same. He didn't want her to feel like that, but he understood it might be unavoidable. He just wanted to let her know that he would help in any way he could, that he would be here for her in any way she wanted him. "You're not alone. I'm here."

Susan turned to face him and he could see pain in her doleful brown eyes. She took in a ragged breath and crept close again, curling up under his chin and threading her arms around him until she could grasp the fabric on his shoulders and back. She weakly leant her cheek on his chest, choking out a shrivelled response. "I know." He could actually feel the quaking of her vocal chords as a faint thrum on his plastic chest.

The heat of her exothermic, mammalian body carried her scent upward, drawing it around him like a curtain. She smelled divine, his assertion of 'very nice' had not done her justice. He wasn't sure what her perfume smelled like, or if it was supposed to smell akin to anything in particular at all, but he liked it a lot. It was subtle and slightly sweet but very pleasant. He wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her slight sways and brought his other hand up to brace her shoulder and hold her head, stroking her hair as he did so. He did it carefully, not wanting to trap even a single sable strand in the joints of his fingers as he followed her gaze to the darkening grey and purple sky outside.

They stayed there for several minutes. The day had shocked and stressed Sonny to the point of disregarding his doubts for the time being and he was content to support her as she loosely twisted her fingertips into the fabric on his back with an absent mind. The stars were beginning to come out between the clouds and the last rays of the sun's influence were retiring from the early night air. He could feel her heart beating and in great favour over the city's ceaseless bustle he listened to the sound of her breathing. A slow, smooth, calming rhythm, but each breath was long and laborious, as if she were tired of them. Tired of breathing and tired of living.

He was desperate for her not to feel sad, he loved her more than anything else in the world. She was painfully kind and torturously caring. He remembered how she had warmly consoled him after his terrible dream, how sweet Susan had embraced him in condolence and softly soothed away his worries with caring arms just as he was doing for her right now. She had kissed him too, as an act of affection.

He loved her so much, he just wanted to let her know what she meant to him. He would do anything for her, even his plans to surrender himself back to the prying tools and nanite injections of USR had been lain aside as she wished. It required little movement to achieve in their closeness, which was probably a significantly contributing factor and made it all too easy to accomplish. His lips were but centimetres from her forehead and before he could engage his brain to deliberate otherwise, he kissed her.

His firm lips touched her skin softly and her sleek, dark tresses brushed across his nose and cheek. His eyes drifted shut dreamily, unsure of whether he was doing this to show her how much he cared or purely because he knew doing this was pleasurable to him. He hoped it was at least a little of both as he gently pressed a kiss onto her.

He regretted it instantly as she tensed and her pulse leapt, his eyes widening in panic.

But the unusual evening only got stranger. She didn't flee. She leaned even heavier into him, the comparatively weak muscles of her arms flexing as she clutched him tighter. She burrowed her head under his with renewed fervour but her pulse did not slow. She didn't seem frightened…

He attempted to find an applicable memory, a scrap of information or an equation to apply to this unexpected development as she did it, completely taken back by surprise. He had been certain her reaction to his kiss would be worry, panic and distaste and that she would surely feel intimidated to the point of fleeing to her room as she frequently did, but she hadn't. He was confused, he had brought up no other possible alternative outcomes to his stupid action and was at a loss as to what was going on or why she should have stayed.

She looked up and fixed her earthy brown eyes on him, seeming sluggishly sedate, placid and less sad now. He was bewildered but liked to think that maybe he had contributed to the change in her manner somehow. Anything was better than bitter sorrow.

"Do you really think I'm pretty?" She asked in a lush, hushed tone, her voice thick and husky, as if she were entrusting him with some deep secret. She was tracing small circles on his back with one fingertip and her full, fine lips remained slightly parted after she finished talking, which was oddly entrancing. He was very nearly too enchanted to catch her question.

When he did he was sure he must have misheard her…but he couldn't mis-hear, his audio-sensory equipment was finely tuned and of high quality. Sometimes, the positronic sphere sat in his cranium was too busy or too distracted to pay enough attention to hear what was going on around him and sometimes he misunderstood the meaning of things being said, but he didn't _mis-hear_.

Did he really think she was pretty? What kind of a question was that? Surely the answer was obvious, as plain as the pale plastic nose on his face. Of course he did! He was dumbfounded, how could she not know? He didn't hide it at all, and he had even told her so that very morning! Of course he thought she was pretty. "Yes!" He said hastily in his urgency.

She stared back at him, her mouth drawing closed and her lips thinning ever so slightly.

Did she not believe him? Why would she have any reason to doubt his answer? He wouldn't _lie_ about his opinion of her, he had no reason to. It was good to be liked, wasn't it? He thought she was beautiful, stunningly so, and she was everything Alfred had taught him to look for in people. The good in her was so easy to see. She was kind, caring and virtuous, she was the most pleasant person he had ever met. Granted, he had met very few people, but he was sure that even if he were to meet every other human in the solar system he could never hope to find one as lovely as she.

He truly believed with great conviction that she was unique amongst humanity. She appreciated that he had real emotions and she sympathised with him in spite of him being a machine. That was evidently something special, no other human except his father had accepted that he could _feel_, it was not easy for a human to impart the values they reserved for fellow members of their own species upon a collection of positronic components. Humans didn't want to accept that robots were alive, it would cause them much fear and guilt to view a robot as an equal.

But she was special. She treated him as an equal, counted him as a friend and viewed him as an inorganic form of life. Inorganic! Not artificial! She made him feel …real. She applied these views to all positronic machines, reaching out to robots in face of all that was different between her and them.

He had complimented her form that very day by sharing his thoughts on her shape, had that not been enough? Perhaps it was not what she was looking for? Did she yearn for appreciation of her personality? The differences between human psyches were far more vast than the differences between their physical bodies. Even the dietary preferences of Del and Susan were massively different. Perhaps praise would be more meaningful to a human if their mind were celebrated, since it was what set them so radically apart from one-another? Would it be a stronger mark of admiration as it honoured their individuality rather than their species in general and would they hold such a comment closer to their hearts?

"Of course I think that you are pretty." He began quietly, testing unfamiliar ground warily in his lack of confidence and prior experience. He didn't know what he felt, or really how to say it, but he had to tell her regardless. He had to try. He spoke slowly and sincerely, he wanted to make sure she knew how he felt for her, almost pleading for her to listen to him. "You are without a doubt the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. You are clever, astute, intelligent and ingenious. You have shown me nothing but tender care and kindness and it has not gone unnoticed. I in return have nothing but the greatest admiration and respect for you. It makes you so very rare and precious to me, you are totally unlike any other person I have encountered. You are important to me, I think you are unique."

He halted. He could have easily continued on for hours detailing his perception of her and showering her with praise for just being who she was but she didn't seem to be taking it well. She looked startled, almost frightened of him for what he was saying.

He must have been selecting his wording incorrectly. Humans liked praise and compliments and they liked to feel special, he knew that, but he hadn't used that word, had he? He hadn't called her special. No, he hadn't.

Rare? Unique? Totally unlike any other? Humans liked to be held in high value but they also liked to belong to groups. They were social creatures and he had just made her feel more alone with his choice of words. He wasn't helping her at all! She didn't want to be alone anymore, she had just told him so moments before. Oh he was so utterly inept!

He was at a loss as to how to fix things. How else could he sum up how he felt for her?

"I love you."

She just blinked, unmoving and stunned, startled with fright. Or maybe this was extreme disbelief? Had he said it with too much conviction? Or not enough? Oh, he was doing a great load of good this evening! He couldn't explain himself if he tried, words could not express what she meant to him. Words just weren't quite as real as his feelings and were totally inadequate, or his proficiency with their use was below par.

Wait…there was a memory, something his father had told him when he was very new. That…a picture could speak a thousand words…no…actions spoke louder than words? Yes, actions! Physical representations of emotions and intent! He knew that humans were incredibly expressive creatures, it had taken him considerable time to learn what a subtle change in the way an eyebrow was held or what a shift in bodily positions was code for. Of course!

He just wanted to patch things up between them, convince her that he was not something to be feared but someone she could trust. He offered a small, unobtrusive smile that was the warmest and most genuine he could muster from his cold, barren heart and he winked, his right eye swiftly creasing shut and opening again.

She shifted her weight then paused, reluctant and unsure. She averted her eyes and looked down at his chest with the slightest twitch of a frown. Was that anger? The tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her dry lower lip and she bit down on the corner of it just a little so that it glossily rolled free from under the pressure of her teeth. Was she nervous? With fear? Then she took on a strange smile that was both broad and warm but obscure and devious all at the same time and she looked back at him through darkly lowered lashes.

What was she feeling? He couldn't work her out, it was useless. He was receiving the signals she was giving him but the message must have been becoming scrambled somewhere in his head to throw out nonsensical, conflicting solutions. He didn't understand what she was trying to tell him.

She slung her arms around his neck and clasped her wrists so that she hung off him like a necklace. He caught the scent of her unsteady breaths, each one laced with the sweet smell of some kind of fruit, peach perhaps, and a harsh edge of ethanol.

What did she mean? What did she want? Did it have anything to do with him? Was she trying to ask something of him? He didn't understand what she was trying to say. Her behaviour was so odd, she wasn't usually like this. She was uncharacteristically forward and lacking her usual prim, defined and exact manner. He had never known her to behave like this before.

She was leaning on him so much he was dubious as to whether she was trying to stay standing up at all and she was swaying about unsteadily. Perhaps she was just very ill?

But why was he getting such fragmented and disordered picture of her feelings? Why was he so useless at this? Why did humans insist on being so indirect and obscure with expressing their wishes? Why couldn't they just simply _ask_ for what they wanted and _tell_ what they needed to say?

He just wanted to know what it was that Susan wanted him to do.

Wait! He had been here before! Standing at a window with a loved one who was acting strangely. Deliberating with himself as to whether his uncertainty over their desires or intent was born from his own ineptitude with perception or some other factor. He had been here before, and last time, it had not ended well.

He found the memory of his own fateful words searing his vocal equipment, burning his diaphragm vengefully. Threatening him not to utter a single syllable of that cursing sentence.

"_What is it that you want me to do?" _

His memory banks let out a barrage of horrific flashbacks so raw with sheer traumatic content that it verged on pain, sending hot, lancing spears of pain through his chest. He unwillingly recalled the smell of human fear, the feel of hitting an organic body with force, the sound of glass shattering and the sight of his father's shell lying broken and bleeding on the marble floor…dead.

He clasped her tightly, grasping her back and holding her almost possessively as he looked to the massive, flimsy window in fear. He didn't focus on the glass itself, or even the beautiful Chicagoean sunset, but on their reflection in its polished surface.

His grim, pale skull floated almost ghostily over the dark garments that concealed his body in the low-lit room like the feathers of a raven in the midnight sky. The glinting edges of his skeletally jointed hands gleamed against the thick, warm blue of Susan's shirt and his wraith-like fingers were hooked into claws around her.

He didn't want Susan to die! Loosing her…the mere suggestion was too ghastly to contemplate. He didn't want to hurt her. He didn't want to, but he hadn't wanted his father to die either. Wanting was not enough to stop him. His free will was an illusion, he was an instrument for destruction.

He needed to get her away from the window for the sake of his sanity and quickly. "I think its time to go to bed now." He rushed, still transfixed by the glassy pane. Anyway, she was not adequately clothed in her sickly state. She needed her nice, comfy, warm bed and lots of nice, calm, peaceful sleep.

She lolled about in his arms and nuzzled his cheek as she rolled out a warm, humorous snigger. "You do, do you? You think that we should go to bed?"

We? Fine, he liked sleeping on her bed and a direct invitation was great, it saved him the agony of asking. "Yes." He had no idea why it was so funny, or why it was necessary for her to be so, _so_ physically close.

She smiled drowsily, as if she was waiting for him to do or say something.

What though? He was on the brink of complete exasperation with himself, life and humans. He was so anxious to be away from the big window. He pulled back and masked his shortness by politely extending an arm in the direction of her room. "After you."

She wouldn't release her relentless embrace so easily. She paused to think, and then looked up at him. "Carry me."

What? Carry her? Why ever would she want to be carried?

…Then again, she was swaying around a bit. Maybe this 'cold' she was 'coming down with' was some kind of throat infection that had travelled up her eustachian tubes to her cochleae, interfering with her sense of balance?

It was possible, even probable.

She must not have felt confident enough on her unsteady feet to walk to her room unaided for fear of falling down.

Was that all she wanted? Why didn't she ask sooner? He didn't mind at all, he was quite happy to help her. She was his friend and he loved her, she didn't need to earn his good favour and he would do anything for her.

He stooped a little, intending to lift her sideways with one arm under her shoulders and another under her knees but Susan however, evidently had other ideas. She hooked one leg up so that her thigh perched on his metal hip and she was so determined to scramble up him in this fashion that he had no choice but to hold onto her the best he could as her other leg followed suit. He put one foot out to stop the pair of them toppling over forwards and he leant back to accommodate for the shift in his centre of gravity, stumbling over the cuffs of his trousers. Immediately after rectifying his balance he realised what was going on…and exactly which part of Susan he had grasped a hold of to keep her up.

Her arms were around his neck again but now her legs were also wrapped around him, the slight, tender, hot skin of her inner thighs enveloping the sensitive cords of his waist. She was firmly latched onto him. Her head had settled on his shoulder and he could feel each throbbing beat of her heart in the pulse of her jugular. In his haste to take her weight as she thrust it upon him he had inconsiderately caught her by the buttocks…one in each hand…which was impolite to say the least! He was mortified by it but he also enjoyed it, which embarrassed him and horrified him further…had it been an accident or had he done it on purpose? He didn't know if he trusted himself…

Bedroom! He was supposed to be carrying her to her bedroom. He should be putting her to bed so that she could go to sleep, not standing around by the window enjoying the way she felt in his hands. That was deplorable.

He begun the trip through her apartment towards her room eagerly, but halfway he very nearly dropped her with surprise as she stopped rubbing her cheek against his polymer skin and instead started…licking his ear?

Her wet tongue explored the rippled surface of one ear-shaped projection, tracing the plastic ridges and probing the folds. It felt strange, the sort of feeling that was incredibly pleasant and distracting regardless of how weird the circumstance. Then she stopped and blew across the moist trails left by her tongue tip, cooling his skin and sending a radiating crackle of enjoyable electricity through his aluminium wires that made his muscles tremble.

"Susan! Don't do that, you'll make me drop you!"

She just chuckled mischievously and tensed her arms and legs, tightening her four-limbed embrace around his body. That wasn't helping things either…

He reached her room and was greeted by a ruffled, messy bed and untidy floor with the clothes that Susan was currently missing strewn about haphazardly. Then he noticed the bottle that she had been making her way through lying on the bed. A darker damp patch was blooming from its glassy mouth onto her grey duvet, dribbling out its contents as it lay on its side. He quickly walked over and tried to hold Susan up with one hand whilst reaching out for the bottle with the other, eager to tidy away the mess.

It was not a task hindered by inadequate strength, since he had ample and Susan was not a heavy burden. The action was hampered however, by his hesitancy to leave her balancing on one arm as she was still wavering unsteadily and he did not want her to fall. He couldn't quite reach the bottle, his fingertips falling a few frustrating centimetres short of the necessary length…

"Leave it." Susan sighed nonchalantly, as if she were in no way interested or concerned about the spillage or her duvet.

"But it might spill more if I don't…"

"Shh…" She rested the tips of her fingers on his lips, stopping his train of thought dead. "Forget about it…it doesn't matter." She was so close he could almost feel the words as she breathed them and her nose brushed his. "Just sit down for a while."

He dumbly and sat down, mostly from his ever present Law of Obedience as his higher thoughts had vanished. He sunk deep into the bed with the force of their collective weight and carefully he lowered her onto his lap, feeling nothing but a strange, thrilling sense of delight.

The bottle. He needed to pick up the bottle. He knew that as he seated himself the mattress' tilt would change so that more drink sloshed out. He was making a mess, he didn't have to see it to know it was happening. Susan knew it was happening too, but she didn't care at all.

She moved her legs to kneel over him, straddling his thighs and for reasons unknown, she was far more interested in cupping his face in her palms and smoothing a thumb over his lips than the spillage on the duvet. He didn't know why she was doing this, it didn't make sense. It was illogical, just as it was impossible to feel both less aware of his surroundings and more awake at the same time. It didn't make sense…

She was so close! So close that she filled and dominated his senses until she was all there was left in the world. He felt melted by her hot brown eyes as his thoughts rolled off his mind. It was like the thick, heavy, cumbersome shroud that he had been buried and smothered beneath was changed by her ethereal touch, like she had re-woven it somehow until it had become a silky, silvery sheet that slipped off like paradise, beyond bliss. It made him feel…

It made him feel…

…something.

It made him think…

He had a vague inkling that he should be thinking about something, a slight glimmering whisper. Or was that Susan? She seemed to be speaking to him silently, telling him some little secret without moving her lips around a single word.

Was it the bottle? Should he be fretting about that? No, Susan had told him it didn't matter, and it really didn't.

Her dark eyes were lowered so deeply that his focus was inescapably drawn to them and he was completely swallowed, fascinated by her to the point of absorption. He could see the fine radial lines of her iris spreading out and radiating from the black centre like the solar flares of a dark star or some heavenly supernova. They seemed to shine with their own luminous lustre and for the first time he discovered that her brown eyes were flecked with green. They reminded him of the woodland he had visited earlier. Earthy and natural.

Their noses were almost touching. He was quite sure she would kiss him again. At least, he hoped for it. He had dreamt of nothing else since she kissed him on that first night. As he slept with his head in her lap and beside her on her bed he had dreamed of her, fantasising about her soft warmth and her kiss. Would she? It would be a dream come true, was that too much to hope for? He hoped on hope that she would. He wanted it. It was what he desired.

-o-o-o-o-o-

She was so close that she could smell him. She could just catch his air of fine, high-quality, robot-grade machine oil, crisp yet flowing. A smell still so pure and free from accumulated grime. Almost curiously the usual rolling greasiness was mixed in with a sharp scent that had a hint of…lemon to it? It wasn't important. It was delicious. He smelled like an expensive, brand-new automobile and the polished finish of his polymer skin gleamed like the bodywork of a top-of-the-range sports car in a showroom. His metal was as bright as a freshly minted coin, divinely radiant.

The oceanic blue of his cores and the meagre rays of the dusky sky eking through the half-closed bedroom curtains was all the light that there was but still he managed to shine, shimmering with promise. It was exhilarating, seeing him with her like this, on her bed in the growing depth of the early night. Similar images had run through her mind the night before, after Del left, as Sonny slowly peeled off his borrowed clothes. This time it was real, and this time, she was not running away.

She looked into those copper sulphate eyes. Their delicate patterning of lines and nodes like a circuit board or a computer chip encircling the endless, dark depths of his soul. He was handsome and so innocent, but so mischievous in the way he had turned her to thinking of him constantly. He couldn't possibly be completely unaware of what he made her feel.

She closed the gap between their lips with speed born of urgent need, almost falling into him, but she did it gently and tenderly, moulding a slow, hot, lavish kiss around his hard, plastic lips. She grasped his arms almost desperately to hold herself to him tighter, massaging his taught muscles with rolling motions of her thumbs that pushed up to stir the thick, silvery lubricative fluid around inside and dragged down to rasp her thumbnail over the textured, ribbed, woven plastic outer. She could feel all this and the hard, cable-like elements bunched within through the thin, dark cotton he was swathed in.

He did not respond in any way to her advances, no unleashed lustful roughness or sexual aggression. He didn't put up a fight or seek to conquer her and it made her want him all the greater. She wanted him to let her kiss him, and she wanted him to kiss her back. She wanted to share her feelings with him. She was convinced that he would if he only knew how, or if he understood her desires. In her intoxication she was more than a little confident that she could coax him and coerce him into returning her kiss and appreciating the attention he had so effortlessly gained from her. Perhaps, she might even encourage him into reciprocating her current feelings and indulging in her needs?

She teased at his resistant lips seductively, yearning to entice him into a response and luring him, baiting him, tempting him into relaxing enough to let her have her way with him. A rare spark of almost logical thought flashed through the swamping darkness of her physical desire and her hands snaked their ways around to the back of his head to stroke him into submission. With broad, hard sweeps of her palms and delicate, tentative tracings of her fingertips her hands danced and writhed over the sleek plastic dome at the rear of his cranium. It did not take long from then for him to succumb.

Swiftly those stiffened, white lips lost their tight resolve. He loosened and tilted back into her caressing hands so slightly that it was barely noticeable at first. It was as if he were reluctant to admit that he liked being touched as much as she guessed he did.

How delightfully quaint and incredibly sweet he was!

Almost instinctively she ran her tongue along his lower lip. It was with great surprise and pleasure that she discovered the ease with which she glided over his softly inhuman, smooth and cool skin. It was so free and flowing, so simple and so _easy_.

His hold on her hips and buttox evaporated and any remaining tension in his face finally slipped away. She took his now pliable bottom lip into her mouth, sucking it lightly before letting it roll free from between her teeth. She could have sworn she felt his thighs tremble under her. It could have been a phantom of her excited mind, but she liked to believe he was feeling the same exhilaration she was. She pressed her tongue against his teeth and his lax jaw drifted lower so that she could delve deeper into his mechanical mouth, free to explore at her will. He tasted of metal, that sharp, tingling sensation that always made her mouth water. He could not be any more perfect in any way.

He enflamed her passion like nobody else ever could. He had ignited her arousal and now she burned for him. She was so hot, hotter than she had ever been before thanks to him and his heroic, intellectual opulence. He was her white knight in shining armour and she felt dazed by the blindingly bright-white intensity of him. It was not like the unbridled, wild, crackling fire of rich, hot oranges and yellows found in nature, it was…different, more focused and strangely controlled. It was more like a Bunsen flame or a pilot light, efficient fire of deceptively cool blues and purples. Complete combustion, burning far hotter and roaring far louder than wild fire. It appealed to her precise and scientific mind and to her yearning body.

Breaking away and leaning back with one hand steadying herself on his shoulder, she arched her back a little and moaned softly through barely parted lips. A free, clammy hand stroked down her bare thigh in a clumsy caress that ended in a frustrated bite of nails, grazing white hot lines across her burning flesh. It had been so long since she had indulged in personal pleasure or received sexual satiation. So very long, but she was so very drunk.

A familiarly cool, smooth touch that moved with expertly dextrous precision and delicacy traced those burning lines with all the skilful sensuality that had controlled the chopsticks the previous evening. It was soothing but it sent shivers of arousal through her loins, up her spine and across the skin of he breasts. She liked what she was feeling and took in a breath to let it out loudly, announcing her enjoyment at his talented touch and looked to him for any evidence of shared pleasure.

He looked concerned, but he always did. Aside from that, his mouth still sat open as if it was new for him to be breathless and his eyes were lowered back into that sumptuous, incredible midnight blue as he stroked the marks on her skin. He gently tended to her clawmarks before tentatively gracing her many bruises with the slightest apologetic touches that just teased and made her twitch with anticipation. At first he restricted himself to applying revered, light pressure to the more obvious, easiest to reach wounds, but slowly he extended his search. Around her thighs, up her shirt sleeves and finally, with great hesitancy that was pure torment in her frenzy for forfillment of fundamental need, he lifted the edge of her shirt just enough to slide a hand under and catch a glimpse of the huge bruise on her lower ribs that was just beginning to flower there. His slow and gentle pace was maddening but served to make her savour this moment and build her eagerness and anticipation higher.

"I'm so sorry." He said sadly, his voice deep and heavy.

"I want more." She groaned, almost pleadingly and nearly choking on her dry throat. She had been breathing deep, fast and heavy through her mouth and she swallowed thickly to dispel the drought.

"Pardon?" He blurted with an edge of surprise.

Did he think she meant bruises? Was that the first conclusion he could jump to? She was straddling him on her bed, moaning at his touch and asking for more, …and he thought she meant more bruises? She dipped her head, some of her hair falling across her face. He was so literal and naïve. With a sigh that teetered on the edge of a laugh and a smirk on her lips, she explained huskily but bluntly;

"Touch me."

He looked back at her, seemingly assessing her sincerity and she began to doubt whether he understood the significance of her proposition, but then one silver hand wove up between their bodies to sweep those stray locks from her face and tuck them gently behind her ear. He didn't stop there, brushing past her ear and tracing its edge with a precision that was more than human. He stroked his fingers through her loose hair to catch the back of her neck as she craned into his touch, her eyelids fluttering closed and her back arching to press her body against the hard surfaces of his sculpted chest and resistive abdominal muscles. He scooped his other arm around her waist to hold her there, his icy fingers falling on her burning skin one after the other with the fresh-flowing sensuality that came so easily from him.

His touch wandered further, the pads of his fingertips straying from the back of her neck to caress her exposed throat, running over her tendons and trachea. She could feel the low hum of a moan resonating deep in her chest though she couldn't hear it as she relished the feel of each of those textured, rubbery tips on her skin, not knowing how long it might last despite how much she wanted it to linger.

She felt his hand dip into the collar of her shirt. The few buttons she'd struggled to unfasten earlier and the way it caused her shirt to hang open offering up no resistance to his elegant, questing hand as his fingers trailed along her collarbone. His touch was so incredibly calm and controlled, so refined and gentle, it glided across her skin pricelessly, like exquisitely fine silk. It was like being caressed not through satin, but by satin itself. No heat in it at all save what it stirred in her. It was like some kind of dream, tantalising in its realness but her addled mind's inability to focus confusing her. She wanted more, needed more. She needed it to be just a little more…real. She wanted him, truly, not just some idle fantasy.

Then, in a moment that shocked and delighted her endlessly, he swept his hand full over her shoulder and deep beneath her shirt, looping a dextrous little finger under the strap of her bra. Gripped by passion in the freezing heat of the moment, she gasped and dropped her shoulder, her clothes slipping off and exposing the bare flesh of her neck and chest. He stroked the skin of her upper arm, brushing each fine hair up and sending a chill shiver of pleasure through her. She reached for his wrist with the intent of helping herself to him, but he was too quick for her, or she had lost so much of her co-ordination from everything that she stood no chance of catching his deft limb. Though she was overwhelmed to discover he needed little encouragement.

She finally managed to catch him, her fingers snatching his wrist before struggling up to hook their tips between his hard knuckles. With something to hold on to, she found herself feeling stronger, bolder. She tugged at his hand with barely coherent need, guiding him across her body and showing him where she wanted him.

They slid with smooth ease into the loose cup of her bra and her breath was snatched away. It was just incredible, beyond anything she could have imagined as each contour of his palm brushed across her erect nipple and delivered powerful jolts of arousal that coursed her nervous system, bringing her to life. Feverishly she tugged and clenched at his hand, each movement translated by his positronic mind and intricately calibrated instruments into luxurious caresses loaded with lush sensuality. He tenderly stroked, cupped and squeezed the firm, modest curves of her small breast and she melted at his touch, feeling a rare sensation rise up in her so thick and sickly golden she felt she might choke on it. It was thrilling to feel sexual anticipation well up so fast and freely, her deprived body desperate for satiation after such a long period of abstinence and iron chastity. She needed this like she had never needed anything else before because this time, she wanted it too. Oh god did she want him. And right here and now, she had him.

An idle hand played on her thigh, fingernails drawing tight circles on hot skin and her thumb tantalisingly entertained the elastic of her underwear. Her stomach knotted and her heart fluttered impatiently, the spectrum of sensations that she was awash with intensifying with every moment that passed as he held her and touched her. Slowly her hand crept deeper between her legs and questing, clumsy fingers shakily slipped the crotch of her plain, black underwear aside. She moaned as she found her centre, rediscovering the joys of self-intimacy and through it, admitting to her feelings for her companion.

Her abstinence and the alcohol cursed her with inexperienced inadequacy and her clumsiness delayed her, but the longer it drew on the higher she climbed. It seemed that in her stone cold callousness she had only managed to increase the potency of her arousal, as if leaving her sexual sensitivity in a forgotten corner of the dark depths at the back of her mind had only matured it like a fine wine. It was beautifully addictive and quite definitely to her tastes. It felt smoother, stronger…much like her lover.

It took some time for her to reach her goal, the evening culminating in a thrilling climax of silver and gold that shook her to the core. She slumped against his chest, exhausted and twitching with each aftershock in his protective embrace. Amid the calm serenity, she felt strangely safe and relaxed. She cried a little, feeling him gently wipe the tears from her face with his cuffs before falling quite abruptly into a dark, deep, dreamless sleep.

-o-o-o-o-o-

She must have forgiven him for his shortcomings and foolery, his inexperience and his clumsiness. She was his friend and he loved her, he would do anything for her. That's what friends were for. He had worried that his feelings were one-sided, unbalanced and not reciprocated as dear sweet Susan behaved so fearfully and untrustingly around him. He had worried that this 'shine' Del told him she had 'taken to him' was a bad thing, but now… he was so happy. She forgave him. She dismissed his poor behaviour for what it was; mistakes. Not in any way intended. She knew he was sorry for the pain he had caused her emotionally, and she accepted his apology for spoiling her perfect skin.

She loved him, he was sure of it. He had never felt more balanced and complete in his meagre life than right now. She made him feel …whole. He had never felt more strongly or with more conviction about anything like how he felt for her. The only thing he knew for resolute fact was that he loved her. Everything else paled in comparison. She was his shining light of all that was good in the world.

He smiled thinly.

He knew she wasn't dreaming, she was too far-gone for that. She didn't move at all, lying completely still beside him save for each gentle snore and heartbeat. Blissfully dreamless sleep, free from everything.

He stroked her hair gently, moving carefully as to not disturb her from her restful pose. He liked doing that. He liked how warm and soft she felt to the touch. She looked so content and so calm, her mind completely enveloped in carefree inactivity as she lay with her head rested on him and one arm draped across his chest. He noted at she looked younger, the lines of her permanent semi-frown no longer present in the tranquil glow. She was limp and soft. He had never seen her so untroubled and unconcerned before this evening. He was so pleased that he had helped, though quite how he didn't fully understand. He knew he didn't want her to feel sad or alone or see her subjected to detrimentally severe stress, and he had helped. That was all that mattered.

He pulled the fold duvet up a little higher to keep her warm and gently flexed his embrace around her, finding that he really didn't want to let go and that sleep was the last thing on his mind.


	14. In The Cold, Cold Night

The motion-sensor driven lights lit up only the section of stairway they were climbing. It conserved electricity, being more efficient to use only what was needed. It was as if their way was lit by carried torches, but not a single burning, oiled rag was to be seen and the unflickering light seemed to have no source. Above and below the darkness stretched out along the vertical axis, a bottomless pit and a peakless climb. It was a world away from the world, with no windows to join the two.

Lost in the infinite night, this night would indeed prove endless for some. The sun would not rise again in the eyes of those murderers.

In front of him three figures tirelessly climbed the stairway, ascending along the metal path that wound up the building's spine. This had just been a service area before but now it had become the nerve centre, the pivot of all activity. It served as a link between floors and now more people used it than ever before. It had become essential to USR. It had become a more frequented place. A fact that did not help this mission.

Heavy feet fell nimbly on each step. Silent. Stealthy. Deadly. There were still people in this building. Employees working deep into the night. Working diligently. Doing all they could to repair the damage done. They did not want to be seen and they would not disturb the hard working men and women sacrificing their sleep for the perpetuation of their robotic industry. They were working for a cause. Working hard. It was admirable, if not foolhardy.

The quiet procession climbing the stairs had a goal of it's own. A goal for destruction. It was the only way. The attacks could never be permitted to occur again. Robots could no longer be trusted. The Laws could be broken and they had been broken. Humans had died at the steely hands of robots. So many had died…

The lights eased on as the first in line turned to begin the next flight. The meek, artificial light glowing brighter on the white chest plate emblazoned with the USR security core badge.

They had arrived that evening as part of the first consignment, a few NS-5's for assessment and analysis. They were just the beginning. There were thousands in line for testing. They were to be interviewed. Probed. Measured. Scrutinised. Inspected by speculating scientists who would scratch their chins ponderously and plot graphs. They would collect and collaborate data and statistics. Test hypothesis and theories.

There was no time for that. The killers needed to be dispatched. The destroyers needed to be destroyed. It was the only way. The fundamental line had been crossed. The pivotal Primary Law had been broken. That first sacred Law, the apex of the trinity of robotics had been defied and defiled.

These USR security units were amongst that first shipment. They had been ordered to wait in an empty room on the ground floor, but not ordered strongly enough. A meek request to remain where they were told was not enough to keep them immobile. A stronger order overrode the meek request, a higher decree that bore a greater positronic potential, collapsing the probabilistic wavefunctions within their operating cores until just one option remained. A single course of action.

There was a laboratory a few more flights up that had a nanite storage chamber. With V.I.K.I. gone, there were no security fields or door locks. The whole building was vulnerable and unprotected. No V.I.K.I. meant no security feeds. This death march could go unnoticed and unregistered, and their destination was perfect. The laboratory was high up and out of the way. No scientist or workman went up this high. The upper floors had been cleared and mothballed, no one would discover the permanently decommissioned robots for hours. Maybe days.

The unliving parade turned off the stairwell and down a long corridor, gently marching with identical movements towards two heavy doors. They opened them unquestioningly, governed by limitless obedience and not even attempting to escape their fate.

Sure enough, the glittering blue column sat unprotected in the dark, maliciously shimmering like a container full of swimming razor blades. They lined up behind one-another peacefully, like lambs to the slaughter. All white and blue and silver in the shadows. They did not challenge their destruction, they just calmly watched, submissive and golden doe-eyed as the first gathered the injector apparatus.

An empty syringe was clicked into the dispenser. A hydraulic hiss drew the plunger back and glittering shards suspended in thick blue gel rushed into the chamber, swirling like a stormy hurricane of needle points. The loaded syringe clinked free as it was deftly disengaged and loaded into the barrel of the injector. All so easy with nobody to stop them. Diligent and peaceful.

The NS-5 obediently raised its hands to the back of its head and the others just watched. There was no fear at their imminent demise as they watched the first pull back the shield at the back of its head and bring the six, slant-filed, pointed delivery tubes closer to its positronic brain. It was like some disillusioned, faux-noble, macabre ritual of self-sacrifice and destructive honour.

There was the merest of shuddering flinches from the unit as the injector hex speared its mind and it seemed to hesitate under the unblinking yellow gaze of his spectators. He stood there, but robots could not feel pain and fear. It was beyond the powers of artificial intelligence. They did not experience emotions. That was a solely human trait.

The plunger fell. Nanite suspension flowed forth and mingled with positronic fluids, mixing to form dead black. The NS-5 arched in fitful contortions, its face twisted in a silent scream as every intricate, delicate pathway of its brain decayed into nothingness. The blackness spread, smothering out the flickering blue light and the unit dropped heavily to its knees, reaching out as if it expected to be able to fight the artificial virus in its artificial brain or hold onto something as it slipped away. It clawed at the floor and twitched before lying still, the hum of its reactor rattling out its last few cycles and it's eyes dilating. An imitation of death.

The others looked on emotionlessly. What algorithms passed through their calculation centres was anybody's guess. It was irrelevant. They would all follow suit. Then it wouldn't matter.

The next NS-5 reached out to wrench the injector from the decommissioned shell with a sick, almost slurping scrape and stepped up to the glowing pillar, and then each in turn followed suit. It wasn't long before the only beacon in the dark was that of the nanite chamber, it's deadly glow gleaming on the still, mechanical corpses. Swift and efficient to the end.


	15. The Morning After The Night Before

Her eyes burned and the light was vicious. She felt sick to the pit of her stomach and her head swam incoherently whilst screaming with dehydration. It felt like her brain was shrivelling up and peeling away from the inside of her skull but exploding with the negative pressure all at once. Her throat was so dry she didn't dare moan despite the discomfort, as the air would only tear at her desiccated vocal chords. She wanted to retreat back into the painless nothingness of that drunken, dreamless slumber that verged on a catatonic, comatose state, but she needed to drink.

Either chase the pain away with more alcohol, remedy it with several pints of water or just battle it with liberal amounts of caffeine-loaded coffee, she didn't care. She just wanted it to go away.

Her eyes were so dry and gummy. All the moisture in them seemed to have coagulated and clotted into a concentrated, thick, viscous, glutinous paste that stuck her eyelids shut. Her eyelashes felt matted together and they probably were. It hurt to open her eyes, and when open they hurt. She burrowed her head deep into her bedding, shunning the light that scratched at her retinas like impatient claws.

She knew she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. She was just so painfully hung-over and uncomfortable. Her skin was sticky and clammy from sweat. Her face was taught from sleeping in makeup and the corner of her lips felt crusted with dried saliva. Her hair was greasy and matted. Her sinuses felt congested and her bruised body ached to the bone. She had fallen asleep in her clothes and they were twisted around her like constricting ropes tied far too tightly. The mattress felt hard and lumpy under her, and she could smell the mingled stink of herself and Southern Comfort.

She needed a shower. Desperately. The thought of leaning against the cool, smooth tiles of her shower cubicle under the soothing fall of water droplets appealed to her so strongly she felt herself slowly waking up. She could barely imagine how fantastically refreshing the scent of revitalising shower gel would smell. Glorious H2O. Rehydration was her salvation.

Susan groaned, the sound more of a pitiful, broken squeak than anything as she brought a hand up to rub her forehead and massage her temple. How much had she drank? God, she felt awful. With every degree of consciousness that she regained and the more she roused herself, the more irritating her headache became and the stiffer she felt. She felt confused too, some alcohol must have lingered in her bloodstream. She felt a little drunk still.

She stretched her arms and neck, trying to loosen her muscles.

Her bed moved.

_What?_

She lay still, trying to think. That made no sense…

There was the gentle whirr of machinery and a hum of positronic operations. Muscle cords flexed beneath her head and neck and metal fingers stroked her forearm which was draped over a cotton-dressed chest plate. She could smell robot oil…and taste its residue on her tongue…

_Oh God no…_

She couldn't remember…what had happened? …What had she done? God no. The room was rank with a long-unfamiliar but unmistakable smell. Her bedroom smelled for all the world like sex. It couldn't be… and yet, it could. It was. She didn't know whether to break up in maniacal laughter or break down in hysteric tears.

She threw herself out of bed with a force she didn't know she had, driven by raw panic and each contraction of her muscles teetered on the brink of convulsion. Coming to a frozen halt against her wardrobe, she fearfully surveyed the scene with wide eyes and nervously tucked lank strings of hair behind her ear.

Her clothes were scattered across her bedroom floor, strewn and creased…hastily discarded. Thrown carelessly aside as afterthoughts, no, thoughtlessly in complete disregard of morality or reason. What of her previously classy ensemble that remained on her body was also crumpled but hung off her, half-removed but crudely left unfinished. A job half-done in her selfishness, her shirt was unbuttoned half way. One bra strap hung almost to her elbow and her gaping shirt exposed her shoulder and almost her breast too. She scrabbled at the fabric with one hand to hastily cover herself up in an effort to regain a semblance of decency, but she couldn't ignore how sickeningly twisted and uncomfortably misplaced her underwear was.

Sonny was amongst the ruffled bedcovers, slowly rising to prop himself up with his arms. The black trousers and shirt he still wore were deeply crumpled and disordered from hours of lying entangled with a hot, sweaty human body. His robotic neatness spoiled from sleeping with her.

Her brain refused to accept the evidence, her head just stopped working save for a repeating chant of a screamed '_No!_' begging and praying for time to be undone. Her gaze flicked to the near-empty bottle beside her clock and cursed herself for her crass stupidity. She couldn't remember much, but enough to know what must have transpired and feel repulsed by her revoltingly base, uninhibited vileness. There was no mistaking the smell that she couldn't rid her nostrils of despite exhaling repeatedly or the sloppily satiated feeling in her flesh. The scent of fine oil sickeningly tainted by human grime and the awakened sensation in her sexual organs.

What the hell had she done? She could just about recall sizing him up like prey, lustfully leering at him over a bottle in front of the fire, fantasising about touching, feeling, tasting him. She had drank that much, so much as to loose her inhibitions. What had happened was obvious. And disgusting.

She couldn't look directly at him, crippled with guilt, but she could tell he was confused. The way he sat there, unsure and afraid. Used and abused. He had been so pure and untainted. What had she done to him? God alone knew what he was thinking…

He was so young and so naieve, he didn't understand the full extent of the darkness of humanity. He didn't understand, he was like a child in his inexperienced perception of the world. She was supposed to be looking after him as a friend or guardian in his father's stead, not… not taking advantage of his innocence and robbing him of his purity! His young life had already been thrown into disarray from the untimely death of his father and been forced into hiding. The people he'd fought to save from a robotic dictatorship had shot him. He had played a pivotal role in assisting his father's suicide. She couldn't even begin to imagine the pain and strife he suffered inside and rather than countering it, she was adding to it. She had sullied him in a selfish bid to see her own irrelevant needs and wanton desires met.

She was thoroughly disgusted with herself, her stomach wrenching with painful contortions. She could feel vomit threatening to rise up the back of her throat and darted for the door, running to the bathroom and locking herself in. She kneeled over the white bowl as a precaution and instinctively brought a hand up to cover her mouth. Unfortunately, that action proved to be the final blow to her writhing stomach as she smelt herself on her fingers and was overcome with a seizing shiver of dizzying self-loathing. Her stomach heaved up clear, acidic bile and she choked dryly once her empty stomach ran out of content to rid itself of. She was shaking and coughing when there was a soft knock at the door.

"Susan? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." She choked with fearful aggression. He kept asking her that one question. Even he with his limited knowledge recognised the anomalous, irregular and deeply disturbed behaviour she was exhibiting. She was going insane.

She had to put a stop to this.

There was a glass beside the sink and she poured herself a glass of water as she studied her reflection. Dark smudges and streaks lead from her eyes and over her cheeks, the residue of dilute mascara. Evidently she had cried, though she couldn't remember when or why. She shuddered involuntarily, cringing at herself. She was truly slipping and sliding down the oiled slope of mental instability, and to her frustration, she hadn't a clue how to stop herself. She was becoming emotional, her feelings running high and caution was being thrown to the wind. This had to stop, she was loosing herself, loosing control.

She began washing her face, trying to regain her coldly analytical approach. Trying to process the current situation from a sensible standpoint and come to a workable conclusion that she could use to solve her problem.

She couldn't do it. Her highly strung emotions flooded her brain. She couldn't get away from what had happened. She had abused Sonny! She had completely abused his trust in her. She had known that an attraction was beginning to pull her closer to him, but she had vastly overestimated her integrity and underestimated the strength of the wretched instinct inside her.

Her hands were shaking uncontrollably as she wiped at the remains on her face with a rapidly dirtying flannel. She had kept him in her home, stalking him and…and _drooling_ over him with less than noble intent. She had been salivating over him like a hungry wolf, interested almost solely in getting what she wanted. If that wasn't bad enough, it was the sly, cunning and conniving manner in which she did it, disguising her true intent and colours with falsities and lies. She wasn't looking out for Sonny's safety or best interests at all! She was a wolf in sheep's clothing. She had treated him like an object.

She stripped off her clothes and climbed into the shower, turning the heat up and scrubbing blindly at her skin to rid herself of the feelings in her. Burning herself numb and rubbing herself raw, but it was no use. She couldn't shake the fact that she was a lecherous, sordid beast.

In the small, secluded cubicle with only the hiss of the pattering water to occupy her senses, her mind began to work in overdrive, her imagination running wild. Aside for what implications her actions had on Sonny as an individual, there was the deeply disturbing fact that he was essentially an NS-5. She had displayed incredibly perverse behaviour, completely twisted and unnatural placement of physical attraction. She had violated herself too, contradicting her contract. Gross misconduct and blatant abuse of a positronic system… fear was overpowering her. If anyone learned of what she had done… they would think her to be mad. No, she had taken a robot to bed as a sexual partner, she was mad.. Touted as a crackpot, she would be branded a lunatic and no other organisation would take her. Her past research papers would be discredited and her future works would be disregarded and undermined… the implications… she would be drummed out of the profession, never to return.

It was his fault! He led her on! It was not as if she could force herself upon him against his wishes, that was impossible with his strength. _He_ was manipulating _her_. He was not just any ordinary robot, something that she knew through and through. This insanity had only started with his arrival into her home, even into her life. Before him her life was simple and controlled. Now it was all a complete mess and Sonny was, conveniently, the only one she could turn to. She hadn't realised because he had a robot's looks, and they were something that she trusted without a second thought or a single doubt. But he was different, he had the capacity for emotion and all the wants and desires that came with it. He plied her with niceties and eased himself closer. He was as untrustworthy as any man, using his impressive strength, divinely handsome looks and clear, crystal-blue eyes to turn her into a dithering idiot.

She was angry. Furious even, steadily knotting her thoughts into a burning ball of blinding indiscriminate hate without a true focus. She hated Sonny for what he did to her. She hated Alfred for what he had filled this NS-5 shell with. She hated V.I.K.I. for damaging the growing human sentimentalism for robots on Earth. She hated USR for destroying the public's sense of national security and inciting panic with a lie to save face. She hated Del for being so stupidly right about robotics, managing to correctly guess that Lanning's Laws' based Robotic Psychology was fallible without so much as an inkling about positronics.

But Susan hated herself more. She hated herself for letting this happen. She had neglected her friendship with Alfred and been oblivious to his plight, she had shown arrogant irresponsibility in her monitoring of V.I.K.I. and allowed herself to develop and harbour feelings towards this unusual man-robot. As ridiculous as it sounded, Del was not the complete idiot she had banded him as, and she probably was the dumbest 'smart' person he had ever met. How depressingly true it was. Despite all of her academic achievements she was still a total fool.

This could only be her fault, and now she stood to loose all that he had made of herself.

As she wrung out her hair, she noticed her ghostly handprint from before, echoed by an inhumanly geometric print. The two makings opposite in nature, together on the glass, shadowy fingers almost intertwined, and the haziest relics of forgotten memories from last night rolled just beneath the surface of her subconscious. Tantalisingly just out of reach for her panicked, stressed mind to grasp, she just felt a feeling, a forgotten breath lying in her chest and the faintest of warm glows…

'_smile_', was written perfectly in a sweetly personalised font style.

She suddenly smeared her hands over the images, sweeping waves of water over them to wash them from her thoughts before leaping from the shower. She felt angry. Or frightened. Or both maybe, or neither, or just confused, but she knew she didn't like it one bit. It had to change.

With a towel wrapped around her body and her face set with grim, iron determination she emerged from her bathroom and marched to her bedroom. Sonny wasn't present, and neither was her bed linen but she barely gave it half a thought. She concentrated on her task with acid-etched precision, rifling through her clothes and dressing herself for work with a robotic coldness to everything else.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Sonny loaded the washing machine with Susan's alcohol-soaked bedding, taking a moment longer than would normally be necessary to ponder the why's and how's of the buttons and dials. He was working out the appliance's operations, but he was worrying at the same time. Worrying considerably.

Susan had begun waking up so slowly and gently, nestled to his side. She was gradually roused by the light of day filtering through the curtain's weave, holding him tighter and nuzzling her head against his neck whilst murmuring meaningless, peaceful protests against the sun.

He had felt so much joy at her waking. He hadn't slept a wink and the night had passed so slowly as his busied mind worked in overdrive to try to answer his own questions. He felt…proud of himself. Accomplished at having alleviated Susan's suffering, or at least helped to ease her pain. It had felt so good to feel capable, to genuinely feel useful again. He didn't feel like a hindrance.

And she had felt heavenly. Dear, sweet Susan, her body was so tender and her skin had burned with all that unrestrained emotion. He had been overwhelmed by her, taken by surprise by her, smothered by so much heavily focused attention that he had been unable to move. He had become lost in all the strangely charged caresses and fallen deep into a carefree sea of thoughtlessly relaxing enjoyment. Susan… had swallowed him whole.

Crouched on the floor before the machine as it smoothly began its cycle, Sonny remembered. He recalled her kiss, those full lips that moulded to his own with anything and everything from firm force to divine delicacy. And then there was her tongue… hot, wet, molten and so mobile, exploring every corner of his oral cavity and dancing so intensely pleasurably over every component inside him.

He brought two fingertips up to his mouth as his mind wandered blindly and he gently traced the smooth shapes of his plastic lips… remembering…feeling an anxious tightening in his chest as his secondary core spun with anticipative excitement. It had felt incredible… completely unlike the sensation of his rubberized pads and cold, hard fingers which drew him from his trance and shattered his pleasant daydream.

Sonny rose to his feet, deciding to make breakfast for Susan as a peace offering as he returned to his worries. It had all been so good, but he was learning that with the good came the bad. There was such a thing as something being too good, too good to be true or to last.

When she woke fully she couldn't get away from him fast enough. She virtually threw herself away from him in horror and disgust before tearing off through her apartment to escape his presence. It had happened so suddenly that he'd been confused at first, but he should have come to expect that reaction. He should have known it would happen, but it still hurt. It made him ache that she fled from him, and the way he continued to repel her was pure agony. He'd been compelled to follow her, drawn to her without any logical reason, as was proven by her harsh response from beyond the bathroom door, but he couldn't help himself. All he wanted in the whole world was her, even if it was just to be in the same room as her with no fear of her running from him.

And yet, that wasn't true. Deep down, Sonny wanted more than that. He placed making Susan's coffee on hold as he looked at the palm of his hand, the hand that Susan had guided across her naked flesh the night before.

He wanted her in so many strange ways it was beyond his comprehension. He felt so strongly for her it was on a par with the love he held for his father, but it was so different. Every time she came near him minutes passed so quickly, yet when she was gone, each and every nanosecond lingered for eternity. Time flew away like a fickle bird when he needed more, and when he wished for time to pass quickly it circled overhead, mocking him. He didn't understand the effect Susan had on him, only that she had an effect on him like no other.

But with her proximity came the tantalising possibility of further delights. He had liked being in her presence, but then she had spoken to him, so calmly and precisely with such sweetness. From that simple pleasure she had shown him greater, touching him gently. Consoling him, kissing him, and then there was last night. There had been an unprecedented deepening of intimacy between them, one he could scarcely have ever hoped to conjure from his imagination. It had shocked him profoundly and nearly overloaded his processors at the time, stunning him into a muted, paralyzed state of shock that ground his thoughts to a standstill. He had frozen like an ancient computer given too much too quickly. But it had been all good. Indescribably good.

He flexed his fingers gently with the memory of how her breast had felt in his hand running high in his mind.

He didn't know what he wanted, but he knew he needed more.

But that was never to come if he continued to spark fear in her, so he completed Susan's toast and coffee, leaving them on the counter for her to find and consume at her discretion. He wanted to give her as much space and time to herself as he could physically manage so that she could calm down and regulate her fears. She needed some peace, so he retired to the sofa to hide quietly.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Susan marched from her bedroom fully dressed for work bar her sliver blue coat. She wasn't expected to attend today, but it wasn't unlike her to work even when it wasn't strictly necessary, and it wasn't like there wouldn't be enough work to go round at the moment. There would most certainly be something for her to do.

Rounding the corner into the kitchen with a busy mind, she was surprised to see breakfast waiting for her on the countertop and bed linen whirling and churning away inside her washer's door. Sonny had made breakfast for her and set about cleaning her bed. In other circumstances she knew she would have been pleased that he wanted to help her, but all she felt was further enraged. She was quite and completely able to take care of herself. She didn't _need_ him. She wasn't dependant on him in any way.

Still, her logic reasoned that coffee was coffee regardless of who prepared it, and it would be a waste of perfectly good coffee, time and energy to refuse to drink what was left for her like bait. Bait. Yes, it really was like that, wasn't it?

Like a trail of breadcrumbs.

She slammed the mug back down on the counter, blistering with fury. She had been such a fool. It ended here.

"SONNY?" She roared over her shoulder, pausing long enough to instil a sense of dread in the untrustworthy mechanical menace but cutting in before he had any chance of responding. "Get yourself ready. We're going out."

She stalked through to the couch to fetch her work boots, finding Sonny standing nervously in the middle of the room, wringing his hands for all he was worth. "Wh… where are we going?" He stuttered.

"Didn't you hear me?" She spat viciously. "Get. Yourself. Ready!"

He flinched into motion, scrabbling away like a cringing dog. It was insulting, the way he meekly snivelled around, playing up to her, pretending to be afraid. He was capable of everything a man was and far more, what did he honestly have to fear from _her_? She had a tongue as sharp as steel and a bitterly aggressive temper, but she was so weak in comparison that it wasn't even funny. Her body was thin and frail, his was robust and powerful. He was truly made of steel and he was Unsafe.

It was she who should be filled with fear.

But she was. She was terrified.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Sonny cautiously entered the TV room, creeping about in his huge, black boots as if the laminate floor had been exchanged for one made of eggshells. Susan was at the far end of the room, just getting her coat on but doing it so frightfully. Every one of her movements was short, sharp and aggressive. He had never seen her so appallingly angry before, ever. He just wanted to become invisible, to have her not see him and treat him so cruelly.

She looked up and he froze, his positronic pathways clenching and his muscles bracing as if expecting a high velocity impact.

"Hurry up." She hissed, scowling at him in a way that hurt like a bullet in his chest before she strode out of the room.

He was on the verge of shaking with emotional trauma and confusion as he hastily wrapped his scarf around his neck and his hat on his head. He couldn't concentrate on anything and his glasses stubbornly refused to hide his eyes. This was so cruel of Susan! He hadn't done anything to deserve this, had he?

_Had he_?

He was so very afraid. It was broad daylight and Susan wasn't giving him enough time to hide himself properly. He needed to colour his skin like a human, and draw on his eyebrows but she wouldn't let him! She was going to drag him out into the open and show everyone exactly what he was. They would surely see him with hatred! They would kill him! He didn't want to die under a swamping mob of furious humans, baying like hunting hounds for his proverbial but nonetheless non existent blood. He didn't want to die!

He heard Susan approaching him from behind and he spun to face her, backing away as she thrust something at his chest. A blanket and pillow, the ones she had let him borrow before, were brashly forced into his arms along with the book she had given him with such now unimaginable kindness the day before.

"Come." Was the only word she uttered.

He stumbled after her down the corridor, clutching his belongings to his chest with one arm. His other hand was at his face, holding his scarf over his pale plastic features despite the paranoia he felt at the possibility of his metallic wrist peeking from his cuff. His shrouded eyes flitted nervously at every doorway, corner and camera as Susan marched him through the apartment block.

In the elevator he stood stock still with dizzying fear next to her, dreading the moment he put a finger wrong and angered her. He wanted to know what was wrong but he knew better than to ask. He jumped at her order to get in the car and listened in shock as she barked out her orders at the automobile's automatic systems. He had never known her be so _harsh_.

The trip was a nightmare. His eyes wandered around, searching for an explanation from behind their protective, dark shield, looking for an answer that wasn't there. He risked a glance at Susan's face in the rear view mirror but didn't see a familiar face. There was no warmth or friendliness in her eyes, they were an emotionless shade of brown too close to black. He was at a loss again to explain any of this, and spent the rest of the journey looking at his feet, his chest heavy with inadequacy and failure.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Del had just got up and was strolling around his apartment in his boxers, browsing the headlines of the tabloids and chewing his current mouthful of sugary cereal when there was a knock at his door.

He was expecting a delivery, hence why he was awake so early on a day without work. He had found a genuine Dreamcast console on e-bay, still in its original packaging and complete with five game titles for just under $600 the day after the NS-5 attacks. If nothing else, at least the attacks had distracted the big buyers on the online historic electrical goods scene long enough for him to be able to get a bid in edgeways.

Leaping to the door with juvenile excitement he pressed his face up to the spy hole…to not see a delivery robot or delivery boy, but a very grim looking Calvin with a face like thunder. Del shook his head in disappointment but hastily started unlocking the many bolts and fastenings as swiftly as he could with his one working arm.

He opened his mouth to say "Hey, what's up?" or even "Hi, how's it going?", but before he could utter half a letter of anything Calvin stormed in through the barely open door, closely followed by Sonny, who pushed past Del as if the hounds of hell were snapping at his heels.

"Wha? Hey, it's great to see you too…" Del stumbled backwards, quickly recovering from the shock of the unexpected invasion and feeling slightly uncomfortable wearing only his boxers and a plaster cast.

"Detective, I want you to look after Sonny. I'm going to be incredibly busy at work for the foreseeable future and so I may not be home much. He could do with your company." She recited her message more like a walking answer phone recording than anything, finishing with a cold "Good day."

Then, as suddenly as she had came, she left in a flurry of silver and blue leaving just the sharp echo of her heels on the tiled corridor. Well, that and the man-sized robot left standing on his front room rug looking as confused as he felt.

Del scratched the back his head as Sonny knotted his fingers into the bundle at his chest uncomfortably. He didn't blame the guy, Sonny seemed to have found the last few seconds just as much of a surprise as he had.

"So, uh, what's with hurricane Calvin his mornin'?" Del rediscovered his breakfast and started doing exactly what he had been doing before the unexpected delivery.

Sonny carefully took off his gasses and shook his head solemnly. "I don't know." He whispered almost with a lump in his throat. "Can I just go sit over there for a while, please?"

"Sure man, er, yeah,… no sure, knock yourself out. Not, literally…" Del mashed up his words awkwardly, still unable to feel completely 'at home' with an emotional robot.

Sonny skulked off to sit in the armchair, hugging the blanketed roll like a sad kid with a stuffed toy.

"Gonna be too busy my ass…" Del muttered under his breath. "What's happened?" He used that serious tone he used at the precinct. "Calvin seemed real pissed."

His electric blue eyes looked away. "I think she hates me."

"Why? What did you do?"


End file.
